Night fell.

  Hunter Bar was soon filled again with noise and rowdy laughter.

  As a public gathering place for bounty hunters—and, in the shadows, one of the occult world’s entry points—it never lacked customers.

  This single bar alone had once provided the “Vultures” with more than five hundred pounds in profit each month. No wonder Marek had clung to it with such desperation.

  Javon sat in a corner with a mug of mead before him, thinking in silence.

  Hunter Bar’s greatest source of income used to be its function as a platform for bounty hunters. It posted jobs, and it could even collect bounties on behalf of hunters, taking a cut in the process.

  Bounty hunters came from everywhere: former constables, desperate strongmen with nowhere left to go, hopeful youths, amateur detectives, fugitives willing to gamble their lives—sometimes even newly initiated Transcendent.

  Most of them needed their identities kept quiet, and that need gave a platform like Hunter Bar room to exist.

  Of course, trust mattered too. Bounty hunters with good ears already knew the bar had changed hands. Whether they would continue to trust the bar as a platform was another matter entirely.

  Javon took a sip of mead and watched William and Isabet, both in black-and-white server uniforms, force their way through the packed room.

  From time to time, some drunken lout would slap Isabet hard on her plump backside. The barmaid’s eyes would flash with anger, yet she swallowed it down, trying to kill with a glare—only to earn more whistles that didn’t retreat in the slightest.

  “Boss…”

  Balkin himself carried a tray over and set down a stack of scones for Javon. “Looks like the two new hires are doing all right…”

  He was used to scenes like this.

  If Isabet chose to work in a place like this, she must have known what she was walking into.

  In Hunter Bar, Javon didn’t interfere, but he had set rules: only after hours, and never by force.

  At that moment, the bar’s door was shoved open.

  A thick-necked brute with a buzz cut entered, hauling a man in one hand. The captive was carried like a chick and dumped at the bar.

  The bar fell quiet.

  Drunks who’d been in the brute’s path scrambled away. Someone murmured his name in a low voice.

  “Karl the Mad… They say the Blood Serpents were hunting him, and he’s still alive!”

  “And look at what he brought—Savage Buffel, worth fifteen pounds!”

  Several bounty hunters’ gazes turned deep and wary, all of them looking past the bar and toward Javon.

  Karl the Mad’s behavior was a test—a way to see what Hunter Bar had become now that it had a new owner.

  “Sir, we—”

  William Charle stepped forward with a smile, but was shoved aside with brutal indifference before he could finish.

  With a bang, Buffel’s head was slammed down against the bar. Blood began to drip, bead by bead, over the edge.

  “One iced Welsh.”

  Karl’s voice was low.

  His features were sharp, his nose high, and in his blue eyes something feral and mad seemed to churn.

  So he really is a lunatic. The bar does take jobs like this, but usually it’s a code phrase at the counter, then a discreet exchange in the alley behind. Who does it out in the open?

  For the first time, Javon had a direct sense of just how “mad” this Karl truly was. His expression didn’t change.

  “We don’t sell iced Welsh anymore,” Javon said. “From now on, you ask for a mojito. As for our cut—we’re a third cheaper than before.”

  According to Balkin, the “Vultures” had taken three-tenths as their handling fee for collecting bounties.

  Javon had lowered it after taking over. One-fifth was plenty.

  Karl stared at Javon like a wolf measuring prey.

  That predatory attention didn’t rattle Javon, but it made Isabet clamp a hand over her mouth as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  They held the stare for less than ten seconds.

  Karl nodded. Calmly: “Then give me a mojito.”

  Javon casually slid over a cup of iced water and set it before Karl. At the same time, he drew out twelve one-pound notes and pinned them beneath the cup.

  “The old owner at least gave you a Welsh beer.”

  Karl grumbled, drank the water in one go, and pocketed the money from beneath the cup.

  “That was then.” Javon’s smile didn’t change. “Now the rules have changed.”

  He flicked a look at Balkin.

  Balkin immediately moved in, having William help him. They dragged the unconscious Buffel away to the back kitchen.

  Not long after, Javon followed. He looked down at the “catch” on the floor and spoke to Balkin.

  “Send him where he needs to go and collect the money. If anyone tries to stiff you, don’t argue—come back and tell me.”

  He wasn’t charging taxes. In this world, no one would be allowed to owe him.

  “Yes, Boss!”

  Balkin didn’t know why, but he shivered. The temperature felt lower today, somehow. He answered loudly and hurried to comply.

  The next day.

  In the early hours.

  Isabet, exhausted to the bone, locked the bar’s door and stepped out through the back alley.

  A shadow abruptly appeared in front of her.

  “Ah—!”

  Isabet screamed, then recognized the face. “William—you scared me!”

  Suspicion crossed her expression. “You still haven’t gone home?”

  “Home?” William smiled. “I don’t have a home in Wynchester. Just a rented room.”

  “I was worried about you. It’s on my way—so I’ll walk you back.”

  “Isn’t that too much trouble?” Isabet hesitated.

  “No trouble at all!” William said quickly, remembering what he’d seen tonight. “But this bar… it feels like walking into a gang’s den. And the work is brutal. If I didn’t need tuition so badly, I’d have quit already.”

  “I think it’s fine,” Isabet said softly. “William, you probably haven’t lived in Wynchester’s The Lower District or The Derelict District. Compared to those places… this is already good.”

  After walking a while, the two parted in silence.

  William returned to his cramped room, lit the gas lamp on his table, and grimaced as he kneaded his aching muscles.

  Under the lamp’s glow, his eyes turned hot with something sharper than fatigue.

  “Wynchester isn’t fit for people. Rent and prices are insane.” William muttered to himself. “In the day I have to flatter Professor Subonis and get him to teach me Old Runic. At night I work. If the pay wasn’t good, I’d never do it.”

  He complained a few more words, then pulled a key from his pocket and opened the little copper lock on a drawer.

  Inside lay an ancient book with a sky-blue cover. A line of strange archaic script ran across it.

  After weeks of study and painstaking interpretation, William already understood the title—

  De Occulta Fundamenta.

  A true occult tome.

  It was the inheritance his parents had left him. And his family had long since collapsed; by his generation, only he remained.

  With nothing tying him down, William had sold his hometown property and come to Wynchester to study—while secretly working to decode this esoteric transmission.

  “But I’m so tired,” William muttered.

  He put the esoteric transmission away. He didn’t even have the strength to wash up. He simply fell onto the bed and sank into sleep…

  New Calendar 1027, January 12. Tuesday.

  Once Hunter Bar had begun to run smoothly, Javon promoted Balkin to manager and rarely handled matters there himself.

  Night. Ten o’clock.

  “It’s time. My appointment with the Professor.”

  Javon murmured. After erecting a wall of Essence and setting a warning ritual in his bedroom, he lay down on the bed, recited the honorific name, and put on Oclair’s skin.

  With a simple disguise, Elvander—masked in silver-white—took shape, opened an invisible door in the void, and entered the Ethereal Realm.

  Dreamworld.

  The Great Wetlands.

  Javon’s figure appeared.

  By instinct, he looked toward a particular direction. In one corner of the wetlands, the Professor was waiting for him with a smile.

  “Good evening, Professor.”

  Javon approached, smiling. “Is everyone here?”

  He swept his gaze around and saw Langley Tannis. He looked mildly surprised.

  Langley offered a bitter smile and a small greeting. “I owe the Professor once. So I’m here.”

  “You already know Langley,” the Professor said, then gestured. “And this is Ms. Roselyn—a true witch.”

  “Ms. Roselyn has extensive casting techniques. She’ll be a great help in our exploration.”

  Roselyn wore a red witch’s robe. She was tall, unmasked, her face openly and dangerously alluring. Her expression was faintly impatient.

  “That ape is late again…”

  “An ape?” Javon’s surprise was slight.

  The next moment, the void rippled. Prismatic light gathered, forming a shapeless door.

  A black, furry hand pushed through—then furry limbs, a torso—

  Finally, a black gorilla stepped out before the four of them.

  “Xander, you’re late,” the Professor said, producing a pocket watch and glancing at it.

  In the Ethereal Realm, precise time didn’t exist. A pocket watch that could keep time was clearly a special arcane artifact.

  “Sorry,” Xander scratched his head, sounding thick but honest. “When I entered the dream, I accidentally found Soulfly in a beautiful girl’s dream in the building next door. That’s an extremely rare Ethereal Realm creature.”

  “So you went harvesting?” Roselyn sneered. “That poor girl is going to have nightmares about gorillas all night…”

  “She won’t,” Xander said. “After I caught all the Soulfly, I poured a bottle of Dream-Tears into her spirit. She’ll have a good dream.”

  Roselyn gave a cold laugh.

  The Professor looked a little helpless as he spoke to Javon. “Our final member—Xander. The team’s attacker and defender.”

  “Veil element as a secondary path, with spirit-body morphing,” Javon said, nodding with approval. “A black gorilla form really is suited for a hitter and a shield.”

  “Kid, you know your stuff,” Xander grinned at Javon, baring rows of sharp fangs that made the skin crawl.

  “Let me introduce him properly,” the Professor said. “This is Elvander—my last invite. A Forged Light Transcendent. I hope you brought enough Forged Light talismans.”

  They know I’m the mouthpiece of an Artisan—maybe even the Artisan himself. So I must be on the Forged Light Path. Going to the Fallen City, how could I not prepare purification talismans? That’s why the Professor pulled me in.

  Javon nodded inwardly. He raised a hand and, using the Light Dominator’s power, guided a thread of radiance into motion.

  “This will be enough.”

  “Good.” The Professor gave a final warning. “Our destination is the Fallen City—Diat. A dangerous region not yet explored or developed.”

  “Stay alert along the way. Once we enter the city, follow commands and don’t break formation. Spoils will be divided evenly.”

  After that, the Professor drew out a shattered fragment of mirror from within his coat.

  “I acquired this mirror shard in an expedition. It once reflected a corner of that city—so it can serve as a key.”

  Javon’s gaze passed over the shard.

  On the smooth surface, he could indeed see the reflection of a ruined city.

  A tide of corruption, despair, and rot surged up as though it might drown him whole.