[You have completed the mission: Kill Darksmith Martin. Dimforge Blacksmith Village upgraded by 1 level. Acquired: General Construction Blueprint, Artisan Village.]

  [You have obtained the soul of Darksmith Martin, Grade: Purple.]

  Fethan quickly rummaged for the thick, dark green potion. Upon unsealing and swallowing it, he felt like he was drinking a mix of snot and phlegm—disgusting, but it was his last spirit-recovery potion. His spiritual energy surged back, and the God of Death who had led the soul summons faded. He was alone now. And that made him feel slightly lonely.

  He had the power to summon an army from the Eternal Domain, but each time the battle ended, he was always alone.

  "If only I had a flesh-and-blood human comrade to fight alongside me," Fethan thought, shaking his head. He was a master of the dark arts—hunted by exorcists and the entire world. Teammates? Forget it. His secret was too great to risk sharing.

  [Side Mission: Kill Martin's Minions completed. Success rate: 100%. Reward: 10,000 Blacksteel Magic Ingots.]

  "The last minion's dead? Good. That just leaves one thing."

  Fethan headed toward a large barn-like structure painted oxblood red. A foul stench wafted from within. His expression turned cold as he donned a featureless black mask and kicked the doors open with a loud crash.

  Dozens of trembling figures cowered in the darkness, trying to make themselves small to avoid drawing the newcomer's attention. Fethan swept his gaze over the captives—people trafficked and used as materials for dark magical constructs. His eyes stopped on a female corpse dumped at the far end: pale, bloated, and infested with maggots.

  "Such a pity. If we'd gotten here sooner, that auntie might've lived."

  Lumi hovered over the gruesome sight. If she still had a physical stomach, she would’ve vomited everything inside.

  "You're all free now. But find your own way home. I’m not your escort."

  "So blunt," Lumi remarked dryly.

  Fethan’s curt tone stunned the captives. They looked up at him, masked, clearly not a village worker. Then a silver-haired teen stepped forward.

  The boy, about seventeen or eighteen, had a clean, bright face and spirited eyes. Fethan could tell he’d grow up handsome. He stood before Fethan, completely unafraid.

  "You're my fated one. Please, accept my feelings."

  "...." Fethan froze. His brain lagged. Who was this kid, and what the hell was he saying? It sounded like dialogue from a '90s romance manga.

  "..." Lumi’s jaw dropped. Was this boy trying to steal her man right in front of her? Her face flushed as she pointed a trembling finger.

  "What are you saying, brat?! Fethan is my destined one! Take your feelings and shove them!"

  "Please let me help you! I can take pictures, write news, even novels! Oh, and I stream too! I’ll follow you loyally—for free! Let me be your disciple!"

  The boy knelt and begged. The more he said, the worse Fethan's headache became. He looked around at the others, hoping for help.

  He’d expected horror and madness—not this painfully awkward scene.

  "This kid’s completely nuts," Fethan thought. Most likely tortured and broken by the craftsmen for magical purposes. Detached from reality.

  "Someone sane, please," Fethan ignored the boy and looked for someone useful. A cautious, well-dressed brown-haired man slowly stood and approached. His guarded expression was far more expected.

  "You really killed them all?"

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Yes. They're dead. No mobile signal here, so call the police once you're out. There are vehicles outside—just follow the road to reach the highway."

  "Who... who are you? You’re not a cop or exorcist, are you?"

  Fethan stayed silent for a moment. "Who I am doesn’t matter. Just know—you’re free now."

  He had no intention of bonding with anyone. His mission to purge the dark magic traffickers was incidental; he wasn’t here to rescue anyone.

  The brown-haired man nodded at the cold tone. "I can drive. I’ll get everyone out. You don’t need to worry."

  "Not worried. Good luck."

  Fethan turned to leave, but the silver-haired boy ran forward and grabbed his hand.

  "My name’s Note! I’ll prove I’m useful! Even if you don’t accept me, I’m already your faithful follower! Please!"

  Note’s pure eyes pleaded with desperation, as if this moment determined the rest of his life.

  "Whatever."

  Fethan answered dismissively. Note beamed, tears falling, then knelt and bowed. By the time he looked up again, Fethan had vanished.

  Roman—the brown-haired man—gathered the survivors and led them out of the building. Fearfully, they surveyed the deserted village. The air reeked of blood, and signs of brutal battle were everywhere. Like a powerful force had swept through in seconds—yet no attackers were seen.

  "He didn’t… do all this alone, did he?" someone muttered. A chill passed through the group at the thought.

  "Was he a dark mage?" a woman asked fearfully.

  "Had to be. Only a dark mage could kill this viciously," said another.

  "So what? He saved us! Without him, we’d all be dead—if not today, then soon!" Note snapped back.

  His sister had taught him to repay kindness with kindness, not suspicion.

  Roman intervened. "Enough, Note. But he's right. If that man wanted us dead, we’d be dead."

  Roman was a journalist who had been investigating disappearances. He’d stumbled into the trafficking ring and ended up here. Placing a hand on his chest, he exhaled in relief.

  "I’ll find a vehicle. Let’s get moving."

  No one objected. Roman located a truck and drove over fourteen survivors out. Fethan’s directions were accurate—just follow the road to reach the main highway.

  [Rescue Mission Complete. Innocents saved: 100%. Reward: 14 Break-Fail Upgrade Cards.]

  "No way... Legendary Break-Fail Protection Cards!" Lumi’s eyes sparkled.

  Fethan looked at her. "You don’t know? They prevent upgrade failures from destroying items."

  "I’ve never played MMOs. Just surprised you have."

  "Wasn’t me. It was Shiel."

  "Huh. Didn’t know he was a gamer."

  Fethan doubted it. That eternally grumpy guy had a youth?

  He turned back to the golden window as the rewards updated.

  [Mission Chain Complete: Kill Martin, eliminate his minions, rescue innocents. Objective achieved: 100%. Reward: Eternal Domain expansion +20,000 sqm, 1 Oriarcam Magic Ore.]

  Fethan felt the expansion of the Eternal Domain. He began collecting everything useful in Martin’s manor and the village: rare materials, magic gear, dark relics—whatever he could grab. Unfortunately, the God of Death was on cooldown, so no aid was available.

  Time was short before law enforcement and exorcists arrived. He couldn’t take everything.

  He stole a motorcycle and sped down the mountain. Meanwhile, the survivors rode out of the remote village, feeling like they’d crossed from another world. If not for the paved road, it might’ve been medieval.

  With their phones confiscated, they borrowed one at a local shop to call the police. Officers rushed in to assist, escorting the survivors to the nearest station.

  "I didn’t even know what they were going to do to us. But no one ever came back once they left."

  "They wanted us terrified. One woman resisted—they killed her. Then they left her body with us. I had to keep my eyes shut or I’d lose my mind."

  An officer asked, "How did you escape?"

  Everyone gave the same answer—except one.

  "He was sent by God! He had evil powers but a righteous heart. He killed them all! He destroyed those who deserved no mercy! Only darkness can fight darkness! He’s our savior—not Shiel, not Artemis—him!"

  Note’s words burned with faith. The officers exchanged uneasy looks.

  "Who is he?"

  "I don’t know! Just that he’s the greatest! Without him, we’d all be dead. I know I was chosen to spread his greatness. I am his loyal disciple forever!"

  A chilling smile spread across Note’s face. His eyes gleamed faintly. He looked reborn.

  Whether he was lying or not—one thing was certain: he needed a psychiatrist. Urgently.

  Officers dispatched teams to investigate. Reporters swarmed in like bloodhounds, joined by a few exorcists.

  Among them was Roger Whitewood, a skinhead exorcist notorious for avoiding missions. While his team faced danger, he’d been sipping coffee. He never expected to be called in.

  Every inch of the village bore evidence of long-term operations—illegal goods, dark artifacts, and ritual sites.

  Human body parts sat in still-full trash bags. Roger had seen dark rituals before—but never this: hundreds of headless bodies.

  None of Martin’s people had IDs. All were executed—beheaded with precision. Even the women. Roger wasn’t shocked by the brutality—only the scale.

  "They’re insane. No normal person would do this. Killed them all, took the heads. No exceptions—except the innocents."

  The killer left unmistakable signs of dark magic. Yet witnesses said only one man remained at the scene.

  A masked man in a black coat. Young-sounding, maybe thirty to forty. About 175 cm tall. No one knew who he was—or whether he worked alone.

  "Damn it," Roger muttered, ruffling his hair. "Let’s hope this doesn’t hit the news."

  But he was out of luck. The story exploded.

  And someone made sure it went viral.