This is the western part of the empire, the “Western Country” that is extremely close to the Celestial Path mountain range that spans the central continent. Under the rule of the empire, it is obviously rebellious to call a part of the ruled area a “country”, so this is of course only the private name of travelers and adventurers, but most people default to this.

The western territory of the empire is called “country” because the area here is vast and mixed. Not only are there four grand dukes here, but also smugglers, speculators, adventurers… countless people of all kinds are mixed here. Compared to the lifeless, stagnant North, the West Country can be said to be chaotically exciting.

And under the circumstances that no one knew, Hydral, who had stirred up the North, had quietly crossed most of the empire and arrived at an important city in the West Country, City of Elysian under the rule of the Duke of Wyvern.

*

“Chime —”

Ansel sauntered into a tavern, the crisp sound of the bell instantly drowned in the boisterous cacophony of laughter and banter. Oddities like him, cloaked in peculiar black robes, were a dime a dozen in the West, hence most patrons paid him no heed. However, those who had frequented this tavern for years, even decades, began to cast wary glances his way. Ansel made a beeline for the counter, pulling up a chair nonchalantly. “Long journey, friend? What can I get you?” The handsome bartender flashed a dazzling smile that could charm both men and women alike, “May I suggest something?”

“Fate.”

Half of the young man’s face was shrouded in shadow as he chuckled lightly, “Pour me a glass of Fate.”

“…”

The bartender’s expression froze momentarily, then a wave of indescribable terror washed over his face, typically a lady-killer. “What’s the matter, Viggo? Have you forgotten how to make it?” Ansel casually extended a hand from beneath his cloak, tapping lightly on the weathered counter, “A drop of saint’s blood, a drop of believer’s blood, a drop of arcane blood, a drop of… beast king’s blood.”

“Plus ninety-nine drops of the tears of the suffering.”

Clang!

Amidst the clamor, the sound emanating from the counter was barely audible, yet it was this sound that brought an eerie silence to the tavern. All eyes turned to the counter, to the mysterious man in the black cloak, to the bartender who had backed into the liquor cabinet, his face a mask of terror. “Well, that’s a rarity.” In the silence, someone whistled, “Someone’s causing a ruckus in the Crow’s Nest.”

“Hey, Viggo, what’s with the scaredy-cat look? Hahaha, I’ve got it all on crystal recording. If you don’t buy me a drink next time, I’ll spread it all over the West tomorrow!”

Such teasing did nothing to alleviate Viggo’s fear. On the contrary, it seemed to amplify his terror, even… despair. The person closest to Ansel finally sensed something amiss. He placed a hand on Ansel’s shoulder, his tone hostile, “The Crow’s Nest welcomes all friends and patrons. Are you… here for a drink?”

“Of course.” Ansel smiled, “It’s just that your bartender can’t provide what I want.”

“Ha, if you can find three better bartenders than Vig in the West, I’ll lick your asswhole right now!”

A patron nearby sneered, flipping Ansel the bird, “You cocky idiot!”

“Did you hear that, Viggo?” The gaze hidden beneath the hood turned to the trembling bartender behind the counter, a devilish smile playing on the lips of the figure in the shadows, “They trust your skills, as do I. So, could you please make me a—”

“Enough.”

A hoarse voice echoed from the staircase leading to the second floor. Everyone turned to look, and the tavern instantly erupted. “Holy **, it’s Valrhona!”

“A living person… a living crow!? It’s really here!”

“Shut up, it’s too noisy.”

The wave of sound, imbued with a strange power, reverberated through the tavern. A tall, thin figure wearing a black mask slowly descended the stairs. Judging by its beast-like limbs and the black feathers on its arms, “beast” might be a more fitting description. “After such a long time, you wouldn’t have come all this way just to give Viggo a hard time —”

“Faust.”

Faust.

This name plunged the tavern, Valrhona’s Nest, into silence. Any adventurer who had spent some time in the West would undoubtedly know this name. The mysterious powerhouse who single-handedly hunted nineteen giant dragons during the dragon disaster three years ago, fought the Duke of Wyvern for unknown reasons, and then emerged unscathed, suddenly appeared in the West, and then disappeared just as suddenly. “Just a joke, I know Viggo can’t make the drink I want yet, let alone, I haven’t given him the ingredients.”

Ansel chuckled, “Valrhona, I’ve come all this way… to make a big deal with you.”

In the silence, Valrhona descended the stairs, silently staring at Ansel. “Is that all?” It suddenly asked. “That’s all.” Ansel nodded. “Then why disturb me?”

Valrhona’s voice became somewhat displeased, “Keep your malicious and dangerous aura in check.”

“Because this news is very valuable to you… I heard that your nest hasn’t received a single grain in a month?”

Ansel laughed heartily, “This is a deal that could make you a fortune.”

Valrhona’s figure suddenly disappeared, then reappeared from the shadow next to Ansel. The distorted figure, when it turned into a shadow, looked quite terrifying. It stared intently at Ansel, uttering just one word:

“Speak.”

Ansel began to speak, but his words were shielded by an invisible force, audible only to Valrhona. After a brief exchange, the young man who had concealed his identity and called himself Faust casually asked, “So, is this news worth anything?”

Valrhona didn’t speak, but its trembling claws and feathers were enough to show how excited it was. “Authenticity.” It said in a deep voice, “I must verify the authenticity of your news.”

“You have no way to verify.” Ansel replied quite casually, “Truth spells don’t work on me, and this news, only I could get. Since I have told you, you have to pay me.”

“…Heh, what a strong-arm tactic.” Valrhona sneered, “Your devilish nature hasn’t changed a bit.”

Then, after a brief silence of one or two seconds, it said indifferently, “Speak, what do you want?”

“In your miserly treasury, there should still be a bottle of Redemption Water of the Beast element.”

Hydral chuckled, revealing a set of fangs that seemed to be aimed at someone:

“I need it.”

“…What use do you have for it?” Valrhona didn’t refuse, but looked at Ansel with a strange look, “What, have you been a freak for so long that you don’t want to be human anymore?”

–>