"Have a nice stay!"
One of the guards stationed at the gate called out as the newcomers entered the city.
Azael gave a casual wave and continued forward.
The massive gates of Othlon slowly disappeared behind him while an entirely different world unfolded ahead.
Stone-paved roads stretched into the distance.
Rows of shops lined both sides of the streets. Trainers carrying mechanical cards walked past one another. Some had monsters accompanying them openly, while others kept them stored away.
The noise of conversation, commerce, and monster cries blended into a constant hum that filled the air.
Azael slowed his pace slightly as he took in the sight.
A small grin appeared on his face.
So this is Othlon.
The heart of the Verosia Empire.
The city where champions rose.
The city where countless trainers chased their dreams.
Karina had left shortly after entering the capital.
Apparently, Kasha had arranged accommodations and meetings for her beforehand.
As expected of a businesswoman.
Now Azael found himself wandering alone.
Or at least mostly alone.
"Kree..."
A familiar chirp came from his side.
Mantislayer walked beside him with steady steps, his emerald carapace reflecting the afternoon sunlight.
Azael glanced at his partner and chuckled.
"Right. Not exactly alone."
Mantislayer proudly raised one of his scythes.
"Kree."
"You're enjoying this too, huh?"
The insect warrior nodded.
Azael laughed.
The bond meter wasn't visible at the moment, but he didn't need a system window to understand what Mantislayer was feeling.
Excitement.
Curiosity.
Anticipation.
The same emotions running through his own heart.
As they continued walking, the city became even livelier.
Trainers strolled through the streets with monsters at their sides. Small beast-types rode on their owners' shoulders. Merchant caravans rolled past, pulled by monsters instead of horses. Every now and then, the cry of an unfamiliar creature echoed through the district.
This wasn't merely a city.
It was a city built around monsters.
Then something caught Azael's eye.
In the center of a large plaza stood an enormous statue.
Azael instinctively walked toward it.
The closer he got, the more imposing it became.
A gigantic Leoronix had been carved from pale stone, resting proudly upon a massive pedestal. Its mane seemed to ripple despite being completely motionless, and its eyes stared toward the horizon as if watching over the entire capital.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary.
For a brief moment, Azael almost expected the statue to breathe.
"It really looks alive..."
he muttered.
Even Mantislayer tilted his head upward, studying the monument.
The base of the statue was covered in engraved names, dates, and old inscriptions worn smooth by time.
Azael stood there quietly, admiring it.
"Is it your first time here, young man?"
A weathered voice suddenly reached his ears.
Azael turned.
To his right stood an elderly man leaning upon a wooden cane. His back was slightly bent with age, yet his eyes remained bright and observant.
Azael looked him over.
Not someone he recognized.
Not someone from the game's story either.
"Yes," Azael replied honestly. "I came from the countryside to participate in the Champion's League."
The old man's eyebrows rose.
Then he chuckled.
"Ho ho... that explains it."
His gaze swept over the crowded plaza.
"A great many travelers have entered Othlon these past weeks."
He tapped his cane lightly against the stone.
"The leagues are beginning again."
The old man looked up at the Leoronix statue.
"And every year, another generation arrives believing they'll become the next champion."
Azael followed his gaze toward the majestic stone beast.
The old man wasn't mocking him.
If anything, he sounded nostalgic.
As though he had watched countless dreamers stand beneath that same statue.
"Old man," Azael called out. "Could you help me with something?"
Although Azael was wealthy, he didn't want to rely on his family's resources too much. He had come here as a trainer and intended to handle things himself.
The problem was that he had absolutely no idea where to start.
"Yes, young man? If my six decades of experience can help you, then ask away."
The old man smiled. The expression never seemed to leave his face.
"Is there any ranch available around the city? I'm not really well versed in finding my way around places like this."
Azael scratched his cheek awkwardly.
A faint blush appeared on his face.
"Kr-Re!"
Mantislayer waved his scythes in agreement.
The old man blinked.
Then laughed.
"You're entering the Champion's League but forgot to arrange a place to stay?"
"It sounded less stupid in my head."
"Ho ho ho!"
The old man's laughter became even louder.
"Oh, a ranch? Hmm..."
He thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
"I might be able to arrange one for you."
Azael's eyes brightened.
"Really?"
"Come along."
Tapping his cane against the ground, the old man began walking.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
Azael followed behind while Mantislayer followed Azael.
The three formed an odd procession.
An old man.
A young trainer.
And a giant insect warrior.
Passing through the crowds gathered in the capital for countless reasons, they slipped through busy streets and crossed several roads.
As they moved farther away from the city center, the atmosphere gradually changed.
The shouting merchants disappeared first.
Then the dense crowds.
Then even the towering buildings became less frequent.
The air felt quieter.
Less hurried.
More open.
Azael looked around curiously.
The streets here were wider.
Trees appeared between properties.
Large plots of land stretched beyond stone fences.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the cries of monsters far larger than anything wandering the city center.
It was as though Othlon had peeled away one layer of itself and revealed another beneath.
This one belonged not to merchants or nobles.
It belonged to trainers.
"Isn't it fantastic?"
The old man asked happily.
Azael took a deep breath.
The scent of grass, soil, and monster feed drifted through the wind.
"Yeah."
He nodded.
"The air hits different here."
"Hm-hm."
The old man smiled.
"You understand the beauty of training and ranching."
Then his smile dimmed slightly.
"But don't lose yourself in it."
Azael glanced toward him.
The old man's eyes drifted toward the horizon.
"Sometimes this life makes people do extreme things."
"Kree?"
Mantislayer tilted his head.
For a brief moment, the atmosphere grew heavier.
Then it passed.
"True... true."
Azael answered absentmindedly.
The old man gave him a strange look before continuing onward.
Along the way, several ranches came into view.
Some were large enough to belong to wealthy trainers.
Private training grounds.
Dedicated battle arenas.
Spacious monster habitats.
Others were much smaller.
Simple homes with only a few monster pens attached.
None appeared abandoned.
Nor were any for sale.
Eventually, the old man stopped.
Azael followed his gaze.
Before them stood a ranch.
The roof was decent, though slightly weathered.
The front gate leaned just enough to make visitors wonder whether it was intentional.
The house itself looked more like a countryside poultry farm than the residence of a trainer.
Yet the property was surprisingly spacious.
The yard alone was large enough to comfortably house a standard sixteen-monster team.
Azael blinked.
Then blinked again.
"Uh..."
He pointed toward the ranch.
"Is this the one?"
"Yep."
The old man nodded proudly.
"It belonged to me when I was young and courageous."
His eyes lingered on the ranch.
Memories seemed to flicker behind them.
"I keep it running out of habit."
Then he looked at Azael.
"You can use it."
Azael stared at him.
Then at the ranch.
Then back at him.
A strange expression appeared on his face.
"But..."
"Hm?"
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"There is a bit of a problem."
"Why?"
The old man frowned.
"Isn't it enough?"
"No, no."
Azael hurriedly waved his hands.
"The ranch is great."
Honestly, it was far better than what he had expected.
"The problem is..."
He scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"The deed."
The old man blinked.
"The deed?"
"Yes."
Azael nodded seriously.
"I can't just move into a property without proper documentation."
The old man stared at him for several moments.
Then he suddenly laughed.
Not loudly.
Just enough to show genuine amusement.
"Truly, young man... you are quite a bold one."
Azael tilted his head.
"Why is that bold?"
The old man pointed his cane toward him.
"Because your reactions are unusual."
"Unusual?"
"Very."
The old man nodded.
"You speak like someone experienced."
His gaze lingered on Azael.
"Or perhaps noble."
Then he pointed toward the various ranches around them.
"Most young trainers who arrive in Othlon come carrying dreams."
His voice softened.
"They dream of fame."
"They dream of glory."
"They dream of becoming champion."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"I've watched thousands of them pass through these streets."
Then he looked back at Azael.
"But you..."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't feel like someone chasing a dream."
Azael raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"The Champion's League doesn't sound like a dream to you."
The old man tapped his cane against the ground.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
"It sounds like an expectation."
The old man's smile widened.
"An arrogant ambition."
For a moment, only the wind moved between them.
Then Azael laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"I don't know if that's praise or criticism."
"Neither."
The old man shrugged.
"It's simply an observation."
Then he chuckled.
"But the strange thing isn't your ambition."
Azael blinked.
"Then what is?"
"Your temperament."
The old man answered immediately.
"Most talented youngsters become arrogant."
"Most nobles become prideful."
"Most ambitious people become difficult."
He pointed his cane toward Azael again.
"But you speak to an old stranger the same way you'd speak to anyone else of the same stature."
His eyes curved into crescents.
"You complain, joke around and whatnot."
The old man laughed softly.
"For someone carrying such confidence, you're surprisingly easy to talk to."
"Kree."
Mantislayer immediately nodded.
Azael looked at his partner.
"You too?"
"Kree."
The insect warrior nodded shamelessly.
Azael sighed.
The old man burst into laughter.
Mantislayer proudly clicked his mandibles.
For the first time since arriving in Othlon, Azael found himself relaxing completely.
The ranch stood quietly before them.
The afternoon wind rustled the grass.
And somehow, the capital no longer felt quite so unfamiliar.