For Raizen, never before had he felt such peace as he did now. Leaving behind the days of wandering through the dungeons of Newt Earth, forgetting the moments of struggling as an adventurer against monsters. At this moment, Raizen was nothing more than a retired Dark Elf in his eighties. At that youthful age, while his peers were selling themselves to the gears of society, Raizen preferred to stay in one place, in an old loft filled with the faint scent of decaying wood.

  Raizen’s loft was small, just enough for him to stretch his legs comfortably while still feeling the closeness of the four walls. The old wood smell mixed with the salty sea breeze, tinged with the faint stench from the fish market below. It wasn’t an overwhelming scent; rather, it had seeped into the wood grain, woven into the air, creating a quiet, familiar warmth.

  A single bed nestled against the corner, the mattress worn but still soft enough for him to rest after long days. A small window right beside it allowed the weak morning sunlight to creep in and carried the briny sea wind. The breeze rustled the makeshift fabric drapes hanging from the ceiling—Raizen’s simple solution to dull the oppressive heat of sweltering days.

  The room wasn’t cluttered with belongings. A small wooden table, its surface covered in scratches and ink stains, where he often sat sharpening knives or scribbling fleeting thoughts into an old notebook. A rickety bookshelf packed with a chaotic mix of books—grimoires, old maps, and a few diaries of strangers he had picked up from various dungeons. In the corner sat a heavy iron chest, storing relics from his days of adventure: a chipped dagger, a cracked ceramic mask, and several magical gems whose glow had long since faded.

  There was nothing luxurious or spacious about this place, but to Raizen, it was the only sanctuary where he could feel at peace. A home where he could forget the restless days of roaming, the life-and-death battles, and even the outside world, where people relentlessly chased the endless cycle of life. In this tiny loft, he was no longer an adventurer, no longer an ambitious Dark Elf. He was merely a young man who had chosen to stop.

  And yet, today might be the last day of that peace. As he leisurely sipped on a cup of Robusta—brewed from a long-expired bag of coffee—well past noon, his unfinished book lying open before him, a loud pounding on the door erupted, accompanied by a shrill voice that stabbed into his pointed ears.

  "Old man Raizen! Old man Raizen! Today’s the deadline for your rent!" The voice rang out, punctuated by insistent knocking, grating against the Dark Elf’s patience. He scowled, furrowing his brows, downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, and strode over to open the door.

  "What is it, Meredith? Do you have any idea that you’re disrupting my midday peace?"

  Before him stood a human girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen, with fiery orange-red hair and a petite frame. But despite her size, she certainly wasn’t the least bit adorable at the moment—because Meredith was the landlord of this lodging house.

  "Disrupting your peace, my ass! You’ve owed rent since my grandmother’s time, then my mother’s, and now it’s my turn! You haven’t paid rent in fifty damn years!" Meredith yelled, jabbing a dusty feather broom straight at Raizen’s face.

  Raizen sighed, slipping out of the narrow doorway and leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as if he had just been roused from a century-long slumber.

  "You’re mistaken. I remember quite clearly—it’s only been thirty years." He tilted his chin slightly, voice dripping with lazy indifference.

  Meredith’s grip on the broom tightened, her brown eyes blazing. "You say that like thirty years is a small number!"

  Raizen shrugged. "For a Dark Elf, it’s really not that long."

  Meredith was so furious she nearly jumped. "Raizen, I’m serious! If you don’t pay your rent, get the hell out! You’re not an adventurer anymore, so where the hell do you plan to get money? Are you waiting for me to die so my future children can come collect your debt too?!"

  "Not a bad idea." Raizen nodded, his gaze turning distant as if genuinely considering the possibility.

  Meredith let out an enraged screech, lifting the broom like she was about to smack him over the head. "I swear, I will beat you right here if you keep talking like that!"

  Raizen frowned at the dust-covered broom hovering dangerously close to his face, then slowly reached out to push it aside. "Meredith, you know… you’re really annoying."

  Meredith nearly coughed up blood. "I’M annoying?! I’m only annoying because YOU don’t pay rent! How the hell can you shamelessly stay here for so long, you worthless Dark Elf—"

  "Alright, alright, I’ll think about paying." Raizen cut her off, his tone entirely lacking sincerity. He reached for an old coat hanging near the door, draped it over his shoulders, and made his way down the narrow wooden staircase. "But for now, I need to go out and get some fresh air."

  Meredith stood frozen, mouth agape, as if unable to believe what she was witnessing. "Raizen! I’m not done with you yet! Raizen—!"

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  Her shouting was soon swallowed by the bustling noise of the fish market below. Raizen yawned, shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and strolled along the cobbled streets. The sky was clear today, and a gentle sea breeze drifted through the air. He thought, perhaps he’d buy some pastries before deciding whether or not to pay his rent.

  The coastal town in the afternoon held a unique charm. Sunlight stretched over the old-tiled roofs, reflecting in shimmering patches on the mossy stone-paved streets. The salty sea air mingled with the scent of dried fish, herbal fragrances from roadside eateries, and the musty aroma of aging wooden hulls from anchored ships. Seagulls circled overhead, occasionally letting out their hoarse cries, blending into the lively sounds of the fish market.

  Raizen shoved both hands into his coat pockets—a habitual gesture, as if by some miracle, a few stray coins would roll out from the bottom. But no. His pockets remained as empty as ever.

  “Damn those High Elf legends. Nothing but a bunch of dreamers.” He sighed.

  Long ago, this former A-rank adventurer had stopped caring about money. Back in the day, he spent lavishly—feasting on delicacies, drowning in the finest liquor, and squandering gold on artifacts he never even used. But that was a lifetime ago. Those glorious days had faded into the past, leaving behind only a broke, unemployed Dark Elf surviving in a dingy attic room of an old boarding house, with a landlady who was quickly running out of patience.

  “Shit...” Raizen muttered as he strolled through the market, his gaze idly drifting over the stalls.

  He had no money to buy anything, yet he still found himself stopping in front of a small roadside bakery. Neatly arranged on a wooden tray were freshly baked honey pastries, their sweet aroma wafting through the air. His stomach let out a quiet, involuntary growl. The vendor, an elderly woman with silver hair, greeted her customers with a warm smile.

  Raizen quickly turned away.

  He refused to be the kind of man who stood there drooling over food he couldn’t afford.

  Continuing down the street, he mulled over how to keep his lodging without paying—at least not yet. Meredith was a stubborn girl, but she wasn’t cruel. He knew she wouldn’t throw him out immediately… not yet, anyway. But if he wanted to buy more time, he needed a way to appease her.

  "Maybe I should get a job?" The thought flashed through his mind but was immediately dismissed. He hated working. The mere idea of toiling away for a handful of silver made him want to end it all right there.

  "Scamming someone?" No—if he went too far, Meredith would kill him for real.

  "Becoming an adventurer again?" Not a chance. He was done with dungeons.

  "Marriage?" That was the ultimate taboo. Not because he feared women, but because the shackles of marriage were worse than any prison sentence.

  Raizen sighed, turning his gaze toward the sea. In the distance, fishing boats glimmered under the golden hues of sunset, drifting on what looked like a sea of molten gold.

  "Maybe I should just go beat up some dumb thugs..."

  He smirked.

  Yeah. Before considering honest work, he might as well see if he could shake some money loose from the town’s lowlifes.

  Raizen turned into a narrow alleyway wedged between two run-down buildings. The air was thick with the stench of garbage, stagnant water, and decay—a stark contrast to the salty breeze outside. Sunlight barely reached here, leaving behind patches of shadows where rats and scoundrels lurked.

  It didn’t take him long to find them.

  Deeper in the alley, a group of men huddled around a wooden crate, empty bottles and rusted knives scattered atop it. Their clothes were filthy, stained with sweat and grease. Scarred arms and faded, crude tattoos hinted at a life of violence and desperation.

  Raizen made sure to step loudly as he approached.

  One of the thugs immediately looked up, bloodshot eyes locking onto Raizen’s pale golden irises. His lips curled into a sneer, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.

  "The fuck is this? A lost pointy-eared bastard wandered into the wrong street?"

  Raizen leaned against the grimy stone wall, arms crossed, a mocking glint in his eyes.

  "Surprised to see you lot still alive. Thought you'd have starved by now. So how the hell do you still afford booze?"

  The gang burst into laughter—not out of discomfort, but genuine amusement.

  "Who the hell are you calling starving?" One of them chuckled, tapping his bottle against the crate. "We might be broke, but at least we’re not stuck drinking that bitter sailor's sludge from the docks!"

  "Yeah!" Another thug slapped his knee. "This guy probably only knows how to drink that expired Robusta shit from the old days—bitter as hell, like drinking sewage!"

  "Fuck, I bet he can’t even tell the difference between coffee and mud!"

  They howled with laughter, one of them even raising an imaginary toast, as if offering Raizen a sip of some god-awful concoction.

  A vein twitched on Raizen’s temple.

  He could tolerate insults. He could handle being looked down on. Hell, even death threats didn’t bother him much.

  But making a joke out of coffee?

  That was an unforgivable crime.

  His smirk vanished. His voice dropped, cold and sharp as steel.

  "Seems like all you fuckers have left is your shit-talking."

  A burly, bearded thug immediately stood up, dragging a few others with him. Another slammed his bottle against the crate hard enough to nearly shatter it. His sunken, sleepless eyes glared daggers at Raizen.

  "You wanna say that again?"

  Raizen raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. "Did I say something offensive?" He took a slow breath and exhaled. "Oh, wait. I was just wondering—how rock-bottom do you have to be to drink swill like that?"

  "Son of a bitch!" One of them shot up, fingers white-knuckled around his knife.

  The whole group surged to their feet, surrounding Raizen. Their faces contorted in anger, their bloodshot eyes burning with violence. Some ground their teeth, others clenched their fists, veins bulging from their foreheads.

  The air thickened with the stench of sweat, cheap alcohol, and impending bloodshed. Raizen cracked his knuckles, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. This was going to be fun.