The air around the main gates of Wealden City felt heavy and suffocating. The metallic stench of blood mingled with the scent of medicines.
Soldiers walked carrying dozens of wooden stretchers bearing the corpses of adventurers who had fallen on the battlefield. The bodies were covered by white cloths that slowly changed color as bloodstains seeped through.
In the corner of the gates, dozens of straw mats were rolled out hastily. The atmosphere in that place was filled with chaos, the stench of blood, and groans of suffering echoing back and forth.
"My leg! My leg is crushed!" shrieked a young adventurer with a deathly pale face. He thrashed enduring the pain, gripping the stump of his thigh that continuously spurted fresh blood. "Help me! Help!"
"Hold still, kid! Stop thrashing or you will bleed out!" commanded a cleric from the Church of Lumina in a firm tone. The white-robed man knelt beside the adventurer, pressing the wound with his hand radiating golden light. "[Tier 2 - Minor Heal]! Stay conscious, the bleeding is starting to stop!"
Amidst the panic, a senior cleric whose robe was stained with blood stood and shouted loudly, piercing through the noise of the groans around them.
"For those suffering only minor injuries, step away from this area!" the senior cleric shouted firmly, pointing his hand straight toward a pile of wooden crates near the defensive wall. "Take and drink the Healing Potions in those crates! Treat yourselves! We must save mana for those on the brink of death!"
Hearing that instruction, several adventurers whose arms or shoulders were scratched by monster claws immediately limped aside. They rested their bodies against the gate wall, unstoppered small glass bottles filled with dim red liquid, and gulped them down quickly. Their faces instantly crumpled enduring the foul taste on their tongues from the potions.
Their wounds slowly closed and stopped bleeding, providing more space for victims whose conditions were far more critical.
On one of those mats, a heartbreaking groan was heard.
A muscular man coughed hard, vomiting clumps of blood from between his lips.
"Cleric... please..." the man murmured desperately.
His trembling hand gripped the hem of a female cleric's robe. "My stomach... it feels so cold... Am I... going to die?"
"Hold on. The Gods have not called you today," the female cleric whispered in a soothing tone, though sweat drenched her forehead. The staff in her hand glowed brightly without stopping as she channeled her last remaining mana. "Take slow breaths. The Light of Lumina is knitting your wounds back together."
The clerics continued moving rapidly, running from one mat to another. Groans of agony, the clinking sound of potion bottles, and the chanting of healing prayers blended together in that corner of the gates, bearing witness to the horror of the war that had just ended.
Amidst that chaos, an ornate noble carriage bearing the city's official crest stopped hurriedly, its wheels screeching.
The Mayor of Wealden stepped down with a tense face and slightly disheveled robes, followed closely by Earl Astora and his son, Caspian Astora.
Seeing the arrival of the city's rulers, Captain Cedric immediately stepped closer. The armored man dropped down and knelt on the rocky ground. He bowed his head deeply with a trembling body.
"What exactly happened out there, Cedric?!" the Mayor demanded, his eyes sweeping over the rows of corpse stretchers in horror.
Cedric reported the events with a hoarse voice. He recounted how Lorien Caldwell incited hundreds of adventurers to step out from the protection of the walls to hunt for unilateral achievements and wealth.
"However, in the end, it was we who failed to detect the true threat of the monsters," Cedric reported bitterly. "The leader of the monster wave... was not an Ogre. It possessed strength far beyond our imagination and limits. As a result, The Gilded Falcons along with all four Gold-Tier adventurer parties we possessed have been wiped out without a trace on the battlefield."
Caspian Astora suddenly cut off the report impatiently. The young man's face was deathly pale. He grabbed Cedric's shoulders, demanding to know one name. "Then what about Aeliana?! Where is she?!"
Captain Cedric swallowed hard before answering.
"Lady Aeliana managed to survive, My Lord," Cedric answered. "Thanks to the sacrifice of Master Zareth Caldris who intervened on the front lines. He fell, impaled by a giant Gargoyle—the true leader of the monster wave—to protect Lady Aeliana."
Those words seemed to halt the turning of time at the Wealden gates.
Before the rulers could process the death of the city's strongest mage, Cedric resumed his report with a tone still colored by disbelief. He recounted how a mysterious figure in a strange robe suddenly appeared, killed the Gargoyle, and eradicated the remainder of the monster wave with merely a single slash of light that cleaved the earth into a giant canyon.
Hearing that series of reports, the Mayor and Earl Astora furrowed their brows deeply.
The Mayor massaged his throbbing temples, exhaling a long, incredibly heavy sigh.
In a single day, he had lost the Wealden Tower Master—horrifying news he had to account for directly to the Magic Tower in the royal capital. At the same time, the Adventurer's Guild reputation in his city was shattered, and Wealden had just lost its entire high-tier adventurer forces simultaneously.
In a highly cold tone, the Mayor inquired about the whereabouts of the man responsible for the permit. "Where is Guild Master Thorne?"
"We have already secured him and detained him in the underground dungeon to await trial, My Lord," Cedric answered firmly.
The tense conversation halted when the crowd of soldiers near the gates began to part respectfully.
Aeliana walked into the city with staggering steps. Her head was bowed deep. Her normally shining blonde hair was now tangled and dirty, hiding her pale face wet with the remnants of tears.
In front of her, acting as a pathfinder for Aeliana, was the figure of the young man in the red cloud-patterned black Wuxia robe Cedric had described. The young man walked casually, crossing his arms while hugging a sheathed sword in front of his chest.
Behind the two of them, several soldiers followed with slow steps and bowed heads. They carried neatly cloth-covered stretchers—bearing the corpse of the late Zareth Caldris and the remaining clumps of bodies from Lorien's party they managed to gather.
"Aeliana!" Caspian shouted with a loud voice, his pale face instantly swept by relief seeing the Elf girl safe.
Completely ignoring noble etiquette and the mourning atmosphere surrounding him, the young man ran piercing through the lines of soldiers to approach the Elf girl.
However, when the distance between Caspian and Aeliana was reduced to two meters, a silver flash glinted, halting Caspian's hurried steps instantly.
The mysterious young man in the red cloud robe drew his sword from its scabbard. The sharp tip of the drawn Jian blade was now pressed right against the skin of the noble young master's neck.
The young man's voice was not loud, yet it flowed with a calmness that froze the blood of anyone who heard it.
"Take one more step," the young man said flatly, "and I will ensure your body continues walking without a head on it."
Caspian's eyes widened in horror. He felt a sharp sting on his neck. A drop of blood flowed from a thin scratch, staining the collar of his shirt. The fear of death crept rapidly up his spine, forcing him to step back with suddenly trembling legs.
However, that fear was quickly replaced by a noble's ego feeling publicly humiliated.
"How dare you harm me?!" Caspian shouted angrily, his right hand covering his bleeding neck. He turned toward the lines of city guards. "Soldiers! What are you waiting for?! Arrest this bastard right now!"
A humiliating silence enveloped the gate courtyard.
Not a single guard or adventurer moved to draw their weapons. Instead of obeying the noble's ridiculous order, they simultaneously placed their right hands on their chests, then bowed deeply in respect to the robed young man.
"Thank you for saving us, Sir," an adventurer said with a still-trembling voice.
"We owe our lives to the slash of your sword, Sir," another adventurer, whose arm was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, chimed in.
Those voices of gratitude echoed consecutively from the bowing crowd, overpowering the noble's arrogance and affirming who their savior was.
The Mayor, Earl Astora, and Captain Cedric immediately stepped closer.
Caspian turned, trying to complain to his father about the humiliation. However, Earl Astora merely delivered one sharp glare that successfully silenced his son's mouth instantly.
He knew exactly that when facing a public hero, opposing him further would only worsen the situation.
Just as the Mayor opened his mouth to initiate a conversation and deliver an official expression of gratitude to the young man, Aeliana stepped forward from behind.
The Elf girl's emerald eyes appeared swollen and red, leaving trails of dried tears on her cheeks dirtied by the remnants of battle dust. With pale lips still slightly trembling holding back sobs, she raised her face and looked straight at the Mayor.
"Lord Mayor..." Aeliana said, her voice hoarse yet radiating a newly found firmness. "Could you arrange proper funerals for my comrades... and for Master Zareth?"
The Mayor fell silent for a moment. He saw the shattering of innocence in the Elf girl's emerald eyes. The middle-aged man then nodded slowly, full of respect.
"Of course, Lady Aeliana. We will provide the highest military honors." He turned to issue instructions, preparing to lead the funeral procession.
Before walking away to follow the corpse procession, Aeliana turned to the robed young man beside her.
"Sir Li Bai..." Aeliana asked softly. "Could you accompany me?"
The mysterious young man—Li Bai—pressed his sword scabbard with his thumb, sliding the blade back in until it made a soft 'click'. He looked at Aeliana and smiled. A smile with a gentleness highly contrasting his lethal threat a few seconds ago.
"Of course," Li Bai answered in agreement.
Inside the inn room, the atmosphere felt highly contrasting to the grief enveloping the main gates of Wealden City.
Arcus lay face-down on the wooden bed. The man in the red suit buried his face deep into the pillow, completely refusing to look at the world. Sounds of frustrated groans were occasionally heard muffled from behind his pillow.
He ignored the serious discussion taking place between Alphonse and Vrischil across the room. He was still trapped in his depression, lamenting the loss of his heroic stage.
At the desk near the window, Vrischil sat with an upright back, crossing one of her legs elegantly. Her eyes radiated a highly calculated expression.
"What is your plan now, Alphonse?" Vrischil asked, breaking the silence, ignoring Arcus on the bed. "Are we going to move immediately to exploit the chaos in this city?"
"Master Zareth's death leaves a massive power vacuum in the Wealden Magic Tower," Vrischil explained, tapping her finger softly against the desk surface. "On the other hand, the Adventurer's Guild reputation has been shattered after the shameful operation outside the walls."
Vrischil's brain pondered an escape route for the cornered mayor.
"Wealden City currently needs a scapegoat to take responsibility for this bloody incident to the Capital," she continued, her eyes staring intently at Alphonse. "And Guild Master Thorne is the most logical target to bear that burden. The Guild Master position will certainly be vacant in the near future."
"You could appear to the public as a high-tier mage to seize the vacant Tower Master position," Vrischil suggested. "Or... we could act as a newcomer adventurer party to seize the Guild Master position. Though honestly, I do not recommend the second option at all because it is too troublesome."
Alphonse listened to Vrischil's presentation closely while constantly tapping his index finger on the armrest.
"Actually, I already have a plan in mind," Alphonse answered in a calm and measured tone. "However... seeing Swordsoul's movement and show of force today, there is a variable bothering me. I want to confirm something first before we take a major step."
Alphonse's eyes suddenly emitted a golden glow. He activated his ultimate ability.
[Tier EX - Akashic Terminal]
In a single breath, Alphonse's consciousness was instantly pulled, shifting from the cramped inn room piercing through dimensional boundaries. He entered the Akashic Space.
In the center of that space, Alphonse stared straight at the glowing mandala serving as the center of the Akashic.
Without wasting time, Alphonse asked one crucial question that would become the foundation of the entire power map of this world in the future.
"Did the other 3 Emperors and 10 Kings of Orion Online... also descend to this world in the first wave alongside me?" he asked, his voice echoing in the glowing space.
The giant mandala spun rapidly responding to the question. This time no image was projected. Instead, a wave of information flowed in, etched directly into Alphonse's mind.
[None. You are the only one who arrived in the first wave among the 3 Emperors and 10 Kings.]
Alphonse's consciousness returned to reality in a fraction of a second.
Inside the inn room, Alphonse's eyes, still emitting remnants of the golden glow, opened wide. He digested the information.
The fact that he was the only 'King' from the ruling player group to descend into this world in the first wave granted him the most coveted advantage in a war: a head start.
He possessed preparation time unmatched by any peak Player.
Alphonse suddenly stood up roughly from his chair. His shoulders trembled for a moment holding back overflowing emotion, before he finally threw his head back and burst into boisterous laughter.
"AHahahaha!"
His laugh echoed loudly filling the room, radiating the dark ambition of a ruler ready to swallow the world. That crazed laugh even made Arcus peek from behind his pillow in shock.