Sunset over Baltadren. Just as the goblins were winding down their daily routines, the astounding tale Merilin had laid out reached its final chapter.

«And that is what happened.»

«A hard story to believe.»

«We never committed a sin! How could wishing for peace on earth be a crime?»

Merilin trembled, her fists shaking with rage. She genuinely felt wronged.

But Go Byeonggap’s sentiment was slightly different. He sympathized with her state of mind, yet he could fully understand the opposing side as well.

And for good reason.

‘After all, they impersonated a god…’

The crime the absolute god Madmut had pinned on the saraon was impersonation of a god — in a single word, hubris.

Byeonggap took a long drag of his cigarette, leaning back fully against his chair. Then he slowly chewed over the oral tale Merilin had recounted.

The grand epic of a race’s decline began reaching back hundreds of years — perhaps even a thousand or more.

* * *

The calendar era had long since collapsed, making it impossible to pinpoint an exact year. Still, one thing was certain: this was the distant past.

In that forgotten age, countless races gathered across this continent. The intelligent beings called demi-humans each built their own civilizations and flourished.

According to Merilin, six demi-human races formed the continent’s axis: Saraon, humans, beastfolk, fairies, dwarves, and Kanf.

Among them, the Saraon reigned supreme.

But do not mistake that for an age of peace. It was anything but.

Though the six demi-humans sprang from a single root, they could not unite and instead spent their days at each other’s throats.

Territory, food, ideological divides—the excuses to cross blades were endless.

From the founding of Asvillam by the first Saraon Lord, conflict raged without pause—the earth soaked in blood until the 1,014th year of the Asvillam calendar.

And then came the 1,015th year of Asvillam.

A lord was born—one who would be called the mightiest in history. He was the Eighth Lord, Emperor Landriol.

He was only twelve when he took the throne. Yet even then, no one in all of Asvillam could match him with a blade.

But it wasn’t just swordsmanship. Landriol was also steeped in sorcery, and his talent for craftsmanship and healing was nothing short of genius.

His curiosity was just as boundless. In his second year on the throne, it’s said he handed full authority to a regent and abruptly set out on a journey. For five entire years.

No one knows where he went or what he did during those five years. But the first words Landriol spoke upon returning from that long voyage were these.

“Having traveled this wide continent, I saw that the myriad creatures of the earth hate one another for no reason at all. Their enmity is but a hollow pretense, and so I cannot help but grieve for the blood spilled upon this land.”

“Would you blame the hedgehog for carrying its spines? Weakness and foolishness are not crimes. It is the lion’s duty to restore order to the plains.”

“Therefore I, Landriol, declare from this place: the holy spirits of heaven look away from the affairs of the mortal realm, so I shall become the god of this world and take hold of its order.”

Before then, the Saraon had kept to a passive stance in wars among the demi-humans.

They already held the finest lands on the continent, and no other race dared challenge them.

But Landriol’s values differed from those of the previous Lords. He sought not merely prosperity for their own kind, but peace for all living things on earth.

And so he launched a great war of conquest.

A full-scale war that lasted twenty-six years.

The Saraon army wrote a myth of undefeated victory. The Emperor was mighty, but the generals who served him were also hailed as the strongest in history.

When Landriol turned forty-five, the war ended completely.

“The war is over. All the races of the world have come into Saraon’s embrace. There will be no more war, no more strife. We all came from one root. We must return to that one root and achieve peace.”

The continent, once noisy with the chaos of war, found swift stability under Landriol’s command.

As he had promised, the demi-humans no longer fought. Truly, peace had come to the continent.

Peace continued for more than thirty years after that. Merilin was of the generation that lived in that ‘Age of Peace.’

Even past seventy, Landriol remained as vigorous as in his youth, and everyone believed the Age of Peace would last forever.

That is, until the Holy Warriors and their armies descended upon the mortal realm, tearing through the sky.

* * *

‘Those Holy Warriors showed up out of nowhere and hunted Saraon like rats, and a great war broke out again. The Saraon fought desperately, but those bastards from the sky were too strong. To make matters worse, even the demi-humans under their rule betrayed the Saraon and sided with the Holy Warriors… No wonder Merilin despises the demi-humans.’

The rest of the story is as I know it.

The Saraon were pushed all the way to this place, Baltadren, holding on stubbornly, but in the end they were cursed and shattered.

And now it’s come to this.

‘Then what happened after Asvillam fell? What really went on?’

He was still utterly in the dark about what happened after Asvillam’s destruction.

Why were the demi-humans who once lived across the continent nowhere to be seen?

Why had the once-fertile land become a wasteland?

And what in the world were those Grugle roaming the earth?

He wanted to figure all that out too, but for now, he had no way to do it.

«Hoo.»

Go Byeonggap took one last drag, then stubbed out the butt and twisted it flat.

«Yeah, you’ve been through a lot having to tell me all this. I know a few words from me won’t make it better, but… still, I’m sorry for what happened to the Saraon. As one human to another, I apologize.»

«No, My Lord. Did you not say you are a being from the otherworld? It seems this is not something you should apologize for. Please withdraw your words.»

«Forget it. Once it’s out, it’s out.»

Merilin was exceedingly courteous.

She’d been like this ever since she swore her oath of loyalty. Frankly, it was getting a little overwhelming.

From what he’d heard, she was past her fifties…

‘That face? Fifty?’

A Saraon’s lifespan stretched to about two hundred thirty years, he’d learned. With good fortune, they could live to two hundred eighty. His jaw nearly dropped just thinking about it.

Well, that explained how Landriol could still be charging into battlefields at seventy.

«Um… My Lord?»

Just as Byeonggap started to drift off into his own thoughts, Merilin suddenly spoke up. Before he could even answer, she turned around.

Then—without warning—she lifted the top she was wearing. The map inked into her skin was laid bare without a trace of modesty.

«…What are you doing?»

«I swore to serve you, but that doesn’t mean I can take the former Lord’s words lightly. He commanded me to go to Verbonia.»

She stretched her arm back and tapped a spot on her own spine. Flexible body, he noted again, every single time.

Merilin let her clothes fall back into place and turned to face him.

«The former Lord would not have said such a thing idly. So, My Lord, I implore you—»

«Yeah, yeah, I get it.»

Byeonggap raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.

«I was already thinking of going. You said there’s something there that can revive Asvillam, right?»

«Yes. The former Lord stated as much, clearly.»

«But you don’t know what it is?»

Merilin slowly shook her head.

«I cannot even begin to guess.»

«That’s a shame.»

What kind of incredible thing could he have hidden, to go so far as to carve a map into his own wife’s body and then put her to sleep in a basement?

He sure as hell didn’t pull all that for a joke.

‘Legendary sword? Something like that stashed away in there?’

«Do you know the way there?»

«Yes, the route is preserved perfectly in my memory. And with this map on my body as well, finding it shouldn’t be difficult.»

«I figured.»

«Um… My Lord, when were you thinking of departing? In this maiden’s opinion, we should leave tomorrow morning at the latest.»

«What?»

«Huh?»

A brief silence fell. Then Byeonggap let out a hollow laugh and waved his hand dismissively.

«Hey, hey, what are you talking about? How the hell can I leave tomorrow morning?»

«Huh? Oh… it’s not possible?»

«Of course not. It’s clearly not a one- or two-day journey, so how can we just up and leave? And it’s not like Baltadren’s fully stabilized either. We need to prepare thoroughly before deciding whether to go or not.»

«Ah… I see. Then when were you thinking, My Lord?»

«Hmm…»

Go Byeonggap scratched his chin, sinking into thought.

«Well, maybe about three months from now? I’m not sure yet.»

«Th-three months? …Isn’t that too late?»

«Did you hide a honey pot out there or something? What’s the rush?»

«Ah… no, My Lord. I just hope Asvillam can be rebuilt as soon as possible…»

«I get how you feel, but there’s no need to be so hasty. Rushing things often makes them fall apart.»

«Yes… I understand.»

«Good. You may take your leave now.»

«Rest well, My Lord.»

After sending Merilin away, Go Byeonggap also left the room.

His destination was the council hall. In truth, the name was grander than the place—it was just a large building. It was where key figures gathered to discuss whenever an issue arose.

There, the raid team members were already waiting.

«My Lord, you’ve arrived?»

«We’ve been waiting.»

«Ah, yeah. Everyone, sit down.»

Seven goblins sat around a round table.

Go Byeonggap took the center seat and briefly asked after their well-being. The small talk didn’t last long—they hadn’t gathered to chitchat.

Without delay, he got to the main point.

«Like I said, we’re challenging an A-rank rift tomorrow. It’s dangerous, so I’ll go over the rules of engagement. Listen carefully and remember them.»

«Yes, sir!»

That was it. Go Byeonggap intended to challenge the A-rank rift tomorrow. Since this was a different beast from anything he’d done before, thorough preparation was essential.

The first step was mental fortification and memorizing the rules of engagement.

In truth, the so-called rules were just repeating the same old spiel.

«…So keep that in mind. And get plenty of rest tonight.»

«Yes! Understood.»

«Alright. See you tomorrow.»

Go Byeonggap left Asvillam and returned home.

A dark, cold living room greeted him.

‘Wait—cold?’

It was March, but the air was still chilly. He always kept the boiler running, so why was the house cold?

‘No way.’

An uneasy feeling creeping over him, Go Byeonggap flipped the fluorescent light switch. Sure enough, nothing happened.

“I’m going crazy! Another blackout?”

A blackout—yet another one.

The series of attacks on the power plants started in early March. Ever since, blackouts had been happening with irritating frequency.

Over three weeks had passed since the first attack, but the case remained a mystery.

The culprits had gone quiet for a while, only to strike again five days ago—this time smashing the Haenam power plant to pieces. They’d cunningly exploited a lapse in defenses.

Maybe it was because four plants had already been hit by then? Sometimes the power stayed out for hours at a time.

Day by day the damage mounted, until the whole nation’s attention was fixed on one thing.

For Go Byeonggap, his mother’s hospital was his greatest worry. Luckily, the emergency generator there ran around the clock—no serious damage, they said.

“Whoever those crazies are, just let them get caught. I’ll start a petition to have them executed.”

That day, he had no choice but to take a cold shower. His hatred swelled another notch.

* * *

The day of decision.

Go Byeonggap busied himself from early morning, preparing for the subjugation. He gathered his weapons and emergency potions, checked his body’s condition. No problems, thank god.

Before leaving, he stopped by Asvillam and checked on the raid team members too. All clear.

“Good. Let’s go.”

He got in the car and punched the destination into the navigation.

Today’s target: Yeongwol County, Gangwon Province. A good distance from Seoul.

There were a few A-rank rifts near Seoul too, honestly. He’d passed on every one. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance a big guild had already staked them out.

What he needed was a fresh rift in a remote spot. Go Byeonggap hit the gas before he lost any more time.

Out of Seoul, through Wonju and Jecheon, he finally set foot in Yeongwol. Thanks to the crack-of-dawn start, it wasn’t even eight yet.

“Let’s see, let’s see… where the hell is Deokpo-ri?”

This wasn’t the destination yet. He had to leave Yeongwol town proper and push deeper into the countryside.

The road was quiet—no, hollow. He sped along it.

About twenty minutes later? Beyond the guardrail, figures in combat gear appeared here and there.

What were those guys doing, standing around posturing out there? Byeonggap eased off the gas and glanced over.

He figured it out soon enough.

Beyond the guardrail, a wide basin stretched out—and in it sat a magic-stone power plant. So those guys were hunters hired to guard the facility.

“Brutal. Just brutal.”

A few lunatics, and this was the misery everyone had to put up with. Byeonggap clicked his tongue and kept driving.

—You will arrive at your destination shortly.

Another fifteen minutes past the power plant, and he finally reached the spot.

A deserted village. No people—just abandoned houses and fields as far as the eye could see.

Byeonggap parked a little ways from the rift. Get too close, and the car’s life span would shrivel. That’s why hunters swapped out their personal vehicles so often.

“Damn, this rift is huge. The ground’s already dead.”

A massive rift. Inside, at least three hundred B-rank monsters swarmed.

One wrong move meant death.

He wasn’t exactly scared. He’d faced an A-rank rift before.

“Alright, let’s do this!”

He shouted boldly and threw himself into the rift.