And the world will work on its own, with or without you.

The journey from the smuggler's cabin to Osnastadt wouldn't take more than a day, barring any unforeseen events.

After spending a considerable time is end pregnant, Nessa found herself on the mountain trail, her womb now empty. Walking amidst the silence, she felt a strange void where her belly used to be.

I don't know why, but I feel like there's a hollow in my stomach, she thought.

The answer was clear even before the question arose, yet her hand on her belly couldn't stop. Even though she drew numerous circles, the absent guest was still missing. Unlike before, those lives that had hidden inside her were now left behind in the smuggler's cabin, not accompanying her.

It was a bit unsettling, Nessa admitted, but she knew such changes were natural. She just needed time. She kept one hand free to deal with emergencies, but when that hand wasn't clearing low branches or spider webs in her path, it would often touch her own belly. Especially when she contemplated which road would lead her back to Osnastadt. Like some people who absentmindedly scratch their heads when questioned, Nessa was doing the same, only she was caressing her stomach. In subconscious moments, Nessa would touch herself, particularly that area, the abdomen that had once housed the eggs of the Blight Goblins. Then, she'd feel a certain emptiness.....there has been refulled, once.

More. NEED More.

Like certain individuals questioned, who unconsciously scratched their heads, Nessa was now touching her belly. Nessa found herself doing it subconsciously, especially that part which had birthed Blight Goblins' eggs. Then, a sense of inanitioness would wash over her.

Peering down the canyon between her breasts, there should have been a mountain peak at the end of the canyon. There should be something there, and her memory would return to the smuggler's cabin. The view would flash in her mind like a picture, recalling the deteriorating ceiling and the faded floor of the cabin just hours before. Why? Because she had screamed uncontrollably at those places, trying to expel the lifes that should have stayed within her.

Strange, how this bothered her. Even Nessa was surprised.

Isn't it just giving birth to a child... and it's just an egg, not a human, nothing to fuss about.

A scene flashed before her, from her before participating in the goblin hunting operation. At that time, Nessa had listened half-heartedly to the briefing. In that moment, she suddenly realized the mission target being introduced was rather cute. And then she succeeded, luring a goblin was no challenge. She still remembered that little fellow, bending over like a ugly dog, fertilizing her. The same ugly face on the briefing that her teammates later killed....by her guided.

Could it be that the egg she was going to hatch would also have the same ugly face? Like smoked and wrinkled salmon skin, lovily and great appetitily. Oh, what am I thinking about?

Nessa remembered the ration packs she used to eat, where were they heavily promoted and sold? The filling is smoked salmon...Right, the Adventurer's Guild. The branch in Osnastadt should still be in the old place, at the bottom of Market Street. The question is, among my old friends, who is trustworthy and tight-lipped?

Intrusive Erin?

Talkative Pessot?

Or Gossipy Jiangko?

Ugh, these friends were helpful informants, but Nessa didn't think any of them could keep a secret. Regardless of whether they lived up to their own titles, Nessa thought about her acquaintances among adventurers, and not many friendships were as reliable as those few gossip-mongers.

The work of an adventurer was essentially that of freelance contractors without a union contract, wandering and being hired anywhere. It sounded good, like freedom, but in reality, they were cheap laborers without autonomy. Employers could break contracts anytime. As the employed party, adventurers had to bear all expenses during work periods. The Adventurer's Guild mainly provided licenses and confirmed job assignments. Jobs that couldn't be fulfilled—whatever the reason—couldn't seek legal recourse through the Adventurer's Guild. Or at least, the most the Adventurer's Guild could provide was written documentation. They indeed offered this registration document for jobs that caused labor disputes; that's all. No country provided legal justice specifically for non-heir children who became adventurers. Generally, only children without inheritance rights would leave their original homes and travel to become adventurers.

This was an unspoken fact. There were exceptions, but those were truly rare. Adventurers had grown accustomed to and understood that justice and righteousness were held in their own weapons. In this profession, if you wanted to stay for long, you needed abundant information. But then again, people skilled at gathering information were naturally good at socializing. Those who could rely on their familiarity to gather information for years, who among them would lack a sharp tongue to divert anger? Everyone knew they would likely sell your innermost secrets. Nessa knew, but like others, she still needed them. However, informers always called anyone for their "friend." They were a mixed bag in the eyes of Nessa and her adventurer companions. Want to know where the lucrative missions were? Want to know where the best and cheapest equipment or potions were sold? Where traffic restrictions or large-scale acquisitions were about to be implemented? Waiting for unified official announcements often meant being several steps behind others in action. Adventurers who lagged behind often ended up hungry or watching their prey snatched away by others.

However, Nessa knew that when you used the information provided by informers, they would also sell your information. They might even tell you the information while it was driven by a specific person's interest. Few people knew that bounty hunters who specialized in capturing fugitives also worked part-time as informers. But coincidentally, Nessa knew this. Although knowing this fact had cost her considerable effort and nearly her life. Since then, Nessa had tried to befriend informers who were unlikely to be skilled fighters.

"At least, confirm that backstabbing any of these three won't require much effort on my part, if i need to do it."

The secretive smuggler's hut was hidden amidst nature, usually leaving no discernible traces for anyone to easily follow. Therefore, for Nessa to smoothly return from the smuggler's hut to any of the well-trodden, clearly marked paths created by ordinary people, it would require effort. If it could be easily found and visited, Nessa wouldn't have chosen this place as the birthplace for the new kind.

Wait a minute, there should be three pine trees growing side by side here, did I take the wrong path?

Nessa pulled her thoughts back from the complicated calculations; reality presented a challenge before her. She couldn't believe she had gotten lost outdoors; after all, she was an adventurer! A significant portion of an adventurer's life was spent in places without signposts. If one kept getting lost and wasting time, they were clearly not suited for this profession.

She quickly halted her steps, hastily making a mark—a clear cross on a tree trunk, and hurried back the way she came.

"Damn it, I really did take the wrong path."

When Nessa, panting from accelerating her pace, experienced the impact of her changed body during a short sprint for the first time, she understood. Her new breasts were indeed prominent, but they also posed a significant burden. Without proper bras or cloth bindings, her breasts would hit her violently during intense movements. It wasn't an exaggeration; her chin had already taken several blows, each one a heavy punch.

Her back muscles ached, forcing her to stop. Firstly, the recoil from her breast movements hit Nessa, necessitating a break. Secondly, she massaged her chest and chin.

Even though the flesh was naturally soft, being swung and hit on face due to acceleration was anything but mother fucking painfull. Ultimately, her breasts were indeed solid material, not two empty pillows; they were like a pair of extra-large water bottles filled to the brim with milk.

"Getting knocked out by my own breasts... I don't want to earn that title," Nessa urged herself not to collapse, but she found it hard to concentrate.Not just because hit by tits, its something else. When her hand wasn't busy massaging her bruised skin, it would press against her abdomen and make a few circles, even as the sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes.

Did she missing something....Nessa don't know, but Puzzled.

I remember, next should be climbing the hill to the left... or should I walk through the valley to the right?

Nessa skeptically stared at the wilderness path she hadn't seen for weeks; the forks there were unfamiliar to her. In short, in Nessa's memory, there shouldn't be two paths here. Unless she had made a mistake and should have gone straight at the previous thicket with the giant Japanese hornbeam, not turned left. Now, she should either continue until she was familiar with the road conditions or spend another half-hour going back to confirm her familiarity with the landmarks?

The distant cloud layer sent clear thunderclaps.

"Oh, damn it."

Back then, Nessa had surged forward with an unstoppable momentum when she impregnant for sure. Now again, the same way she has been walked it. Again, Her hand involuntarily stroked the now calm stomach; that hand kept circling her belly. While she bit her upper lip, deep in thought, her subconscious dominated her body's actions.

More precisely, Nessa was caressing the place where new life had once resided. As if in confusion, puzzlement, filled with doubt. Why was this place flat now?

But I've drunk all the fresh water, a corner of Nessa's mind reserved for pondering asked herself this question.

It wasn't the main issue she needed to think about now, so it was pushed to the back of her mind. However, that didn't mean the problem didn't exist. Am I that 'thirsty'? I mean, would walking this segment back to Osnastadt could be so far, even make me sweat so much that I'm so **** to drink a lot water?

The habit begins again. As she did this, the stains on her chest would deepen. The reason the color deepened instead of the surface stains expanding was that the makeshift clothes she had cut were thoroughly soaked. Nessa could easily feel the sticky sensation of the clothes clinging tightly to her body, no less troubling than another matter. Because Nessa felt her mouth full of saliva but considered her mouth dry and parched, wanting to have something to moisten it.

The female adventurer didn't particularly notice, but during her moments of indecision, all her **** movements had a certain pattern. This included the directions she relied on when confused or uncertain, and ironically, all of them led her right back to where she initially wanted to leave. That direction was neither too far nor too close—it was the spot where she had hidden the two eggs she planned to exploit.

But she was busy, busy contemplating the questions that had captured her attention. Questions like, "Why is it so hard for me to focus?" "What did I forget, and why do I feel like I left something back in the smuggler's hut?" "Why do I feel like a night watchman who hasn't slept a wink, ready to collapse at the slightest hint of repetition?" "Why can't I remember what I was thinking just a second ago?" "Where are the details of my original plan? Why can't I recall? I only remember need to convincing certain people... why are the words on this list all gibberish? Was I sleep-deprived?"

Amidst these numerous little questions, and with the gloomy weather not doing any favors to her mood, Nessa felt the pressure etched onto her beautiful face.

Venturing into the wild unprepared was essentially inviting **** for a rendezvous. It was well-known that **** liked to bring bad news to those unfortunate souls who invited it to their gatherings. Despite the **** circumstances, as an experienced adventurer, a part of Nessa's mind was busy calculating. In the landscape of her thoughts, amid the cavernous holes of her memory akin to Swiss cheese, she tried to find the piece without bubbles—evaluating if all her current preparations were sufficient, questioning if she could find her way back to Osnastadt before the rain disrupted everything.

According to her recollection, she should have completed about two-thirds of her journey back to Osnastadt by now. Yet, she hadn't. There was only another expanse of endless dark forest before her, with no end in sight.

Damn by god, where am I right now?

A sign was nailed to a nearby tree trunk, weathered from years of neglect. Obviously, a **** adventurer, much like ants on a hot pan, hadn't paid attention to it. The sign bore some names scrawled in crude, faded brown letters, some overlaid with graffiti. The old letters spelled out "Honest Bruno," and the new ones proclaimed those words: "Lukas, Farm, For Sale."

"Where are we now? Are we almost there?"

The magician lifted his head from his pile of scrolls, his expression one of impatience. This was the fifty-seventh time this boy had asked this question on their journey. Why did the heavens burden him with an unnecessary annoyance while he was busy trying to forget another kind of emotional pain? Oh, right. This was a newborn calf who couldn't read the changes in the air. What was his name again?

The magician knew about the discount for sharing compartments with strangers. That's why he had this chance encounter with this young man clad in second-hand light chainmail, wearing a rough and patchy leather helmet. The ticket booth attendant had promised that this would save them quite a bit on the fare. Well, there weren't many people in the carriage, just him, this boy, and another silent man occupied with his own affairs. At first, he thought it wasn't so bad, even if it meant riding in the cargo hold to save expenses...

If I had known I'd be sitting with this malfunctioning birdbrain...by the Arcana and Magic, I'd rather squat on an outside bench or on the roof, even if my butt and legs cramped up or the wild wind smashed into my face causing unbearable pain.

Now, it seemed the remaining money wasn't worth it. Not even fifty mating ogres kept by a beast tamer would be as noisy as this idiot. What was driving Lukas inside that made him talk incessantly? What kind of motivation was hidden in his heart that he could talk non-stop all day? It was an ability, perhaps, to infuriate even someone as skilled in letting his thoughts wander in the realms of books as Tomas.

"What do you think, Mr. Tomas? Do you think they will accept us? Like those militiamen who performed well?"

Here it came again, Mr. Tomas? Tomas maintained a calm demeanor, but inside, he felt like a banshee reveling in a graveyard. He shouldn't have answered any questions from this noisy little lump because of that title. Now this sticky mess had clung to him and was asking him questions about anything and everything. Why **** himself? Who knew answering queries would cause so much trouble? A fortune wouldn't be enough to pay for the regret. He wished he had learned a spell to travel through time, just so he could return to the moment before they boarded. That way, he could stop his foolish self from answering Lukas's damn stupid questions about fifty different uses of the Fireball spell in daily life.

In a moment of distraction, Lukas's topic had jumped a hundred thousand miles away. Naturally, Tomas didn't know the cheerful tone in which this hitchhiking young adventurer was talking, or who or what he was referring to. But it wasn't hard to guess; analysis and dissection were his strong suits. On the path of learning magic, someone who couldn't analyze and categorize could only be considered a half-hearted apprentice, not worthy of claiming to be a wizard. If merely reciting spells and using magic defined a wizard, then anyone could claim to be one. Only those who could research, analyze, understand, and improve every principle of magic truly entered the realm of a magician.

"...You mean those committee members, right?" Tomas replied, feigning interest but making a certain assumption. "Rest assured, they will definitely welcome an adventurer like you. In fact, why don't you work on establishing connections with more people who aspire to be colleagues before we officially report? It will certainly aid your future career prospects."

Get lost and disappear from my sight already, that was Tomas's sincere wish. He made excuses for this kid to go annoy other unfortunate travelers.

"Yes! Oh, thank you so much for your guidance, Mr. Tomas!" Lukas ran off like a whirlwind.

Tomas propped up his book, avoiding the lingering "tch" that clung to his lips. Inside, he grumbled, disliking everything about this boy. Lukas's entire existence rubbed him the wrong way. It wasn't just the young fool's lack of wisdom; it was also his young age combined with a talent for magic.

Damn it, if he had had such potential back in the day, why did he have to toil under the candlelight, enduring the ridicule of everyone at the academy and unable to shake off the nickname of a bookworm? And look at Lukas, so young yet with opportunities falling into his lap!

Why was it that back in the day, he, Tomas, who now mastered various magical disciplines, had to rely on being an adventurer, a high-risk, low-reward job, to sustain himself? And why did this stinking brat, who got the same opportunity through hunting goblins, get a chance at the committee job as well? What opportunities did Tomas have when he was Lukas's age?

Life was unfair! Tomas suppressed the boiling cauldron within him, cursing silently but also feeling a twinge of relief.

At least, after they reached their destination, he could rid himself of this little demon. The committee would surely recognize his value, considering his extensive magical knowledge and adventurer experience, making him the perfect candidate to lead teams. Tomas had this feeling; otherwise, why would they have bothered debating with old Garion D'aubigny back then? Leaving his old team had been painful, and the argument with Rithua before their parting had shattered Tomas's heart. But for the promising future he aimed to obtain, it would all be worth it.

He sighed, putting down his book. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, giving himself a little massage.

As for Lukas... who was currently all fired up about bothering others in other cargo cars, maybe this could afford Tomas a few minutes of rest, he thought.

"Well, at least half of the passengers on this trip don't need to reach Osnastadt to know that this kid is from Osnastadt and he joined the committee's ranks out of a desire to save his family property. That much we can confirm," said a man sitting in the corner of the cargo hold. "I bet he left home less than two months. Registering from the guild as the lowest-level adventurer, transferring to an unknown organization, who knows what this kid's expectations are regarding the committee? Or does he truly endorse the organization's vision? In the eyes of the public, the committee is just an **** pest control company."

Tomas looked suspiciously at the man, whom he had previously considered as just part of the background, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't it strange for someone who looks like a committee volunteer to say that? Aren't you worried about being considered 'indecisive' by the committee's political commissar?"

"Would I? Oh, I guess I would," the man said. "Pleasure to meet you, by the way..."

The magician snorted, cutting off the man's attempt at introducing himself. Regardless, Tomas believed this precious idle time should be spent perfecting the magic he was developing. He didn't think this unknown man's question was genuine. After all, he was wearing equipment only committee members wore. Tomas considered this at most a probe. The three hundred people on the whole train were all headed to the committee's designated meeting point. Perhaps people outside the train might question the pros and cons of joining such an organization, but here? Tomas didn't think the sentiment that Lukas's decision to join the committee was stupid was genuine. He had observed after registering in the committee's public market, discovering how much manpower, supporters, and potential project developments this organization had access to. Not joining the committee seemed lacking in wisdom. And they offered many benefits; at least, the health insurance and welfare they provided were enough to make people in other professions feel inferior. Complete career planning and detailed retirement benefits were offered, something not even the so-called noble and wise in the kingdom could achieve.

"Hmph... seems like someone is being disturbed to the point of 'Impatient' by a little brat?" another passenger in the cargo car said to himself, his voice exuding a sense of leisure and contentment, unaffected by the noisy conversation or the unfriendly demeanor of the magician. "That boy, he's like a canary seeing the world outside the cage covered in black cloth for the first time, isn't he?" The man, wearing common leather clothes and loose pants, continued talking to himself, occasionally wiping a one-handed sword while gesturing in the direction Lukas had left. Tomas noticed this man had uncommon markings on the gear he was maintaining. The symbols were composed of letters and various sentences; Tomas was almost certain of it, given his experience in studying various runes and spells.

"I just wonder... what this kid's thoughts will be when he realizes he has to become an exterminator for another race before he can embrace his success," the nameless man continued, busy with his own affairs but not stopping his conversation.

"Is that Troubling you?" Tomas hoped this statement would silence the man. It was a rare moment of tranquility he had fought for on this journey, a moment he intended to preserve. "Consider the difference between an adventurer's life and a life of ****. Reflect on these disparities before you speak, perhaps it will make our conversation more Enlightening."

Many wealthy individuals enjoyed adorning their equipment, even the scions of royalty and nobility did so. Tomas knew some even named their weapons. The man's gear seemed to follow a similar pattern. However, the abundance of text was peculiar, almost replacing all the artistic details the original blacksmith might have crafted into the equipment. The helmet, faceplate, chest armor, shield, and the cloth padding beneath, all surfaces where white ink or engraved white letters could be placed, were covered in a language Tomas couldn't decipher. It was undoubtedly some form of script, arranged in a pattern he couldn't discern.

Decorations made with various scripts and stationery? Well, everyone had their preferences, and he had no say in that. He held his typical attitude of nonchalance and non-interference. It was akin to explaining to an elf resident living in the forest that creating armor with leaf patterns and decorations was an unimaginative idea or even repugnant. You'd earn nothing but disdainful glares and endless reprimands, no matter how good your relationship was with them.

"This question is excellent, truly a profound one. Indeed, it befits the title of 'teacher,' Mr. Tomas," the address was said with varying tones, making it hard for Tomas to discern any sarcasm. It could also be genuine.

Tomas pondered for a moment, realizing he didn't know the man's title. Only two people on the entire train car seemed to be interacting with this man, including himself. Tomas had overheard others referring to the man as 'Captain.' Perhaps it was a nickname, considering the man didn't receive the treatment one might expect for someone holding such a rank.

"What about you? You don't have any complaints sharing the same cargo car with that boy?"

So what if he didn't? Tomas didn't care about such matters; he was trying to convey that the man was being noisy. Whether it was the young lad or this man, it didn't matter.

"Me? Why would I be?" the man responded to Tomas, "Everyone has the right to speak freely; it's a birthright."

"Hmm? I can't imagine a world where everyone keeps Talking a Lot. What would it be, PEACE?"

"Haha, indeed. Every action has its positive and negative consequences." The man who believed everyone could express their thoughts finished his equipment maintenance, skillfully putting on his gear before Tomas. "Yes, that's true for everything. Moderation in all things..."

Then the man fell silent, leaving his sentence incomplete. Given their nearing destination, it was understandable. Initially, this could have been a good thing, allowing the unnamed man to continue his activities in silence.

This silence felt deliberate. When someone doesn't understand your hints, it can certainly be frustrating, but what was this supposed to be? It was as if he felt he was the one offended other.

If he was someone who could tolerate companions being naturally quiet, speaking only when necessary, Tomas wouldn't mind. So the mage spoke up again, departing from his mountain of scrolls and introducing himself, "Tomas of Aruzzo, at your service." He added, "If anyone requires healing or enchantments for their equipment, I possess some basic skills in that area."

"Oh," the man expressed slight surprise but remained courteous. "I wouldn't call that 'basic,' Mr. Tomas. If every trickster could summon flames with a flick of a finger and handle them like pet hamsters, calling it 'basic' would be far too modest. I presume you are a true spellcaster, a living embodiment of the arcane arts."

Such insight was unexpected; nobody disliked compliments, and Tomas was no exception. "Which academy do you hail from?" The man, called the 'Captain,' continued his friendly inquiry. "I've heard the Committee selects members based on volunteers' abilities, and there are only a few true experts in the arcane arts among them."

"...I suppose if I said I wasn't, nobody would have the honor to claim they are." If the man's astonished reaction was genuine or an act, it didn't matter; Tomas couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. With a few more questions, Tomas was pleasantly surprised to find someone who understood the significance of his multiple specialized degrees in magic.

But for this man who understood him, Tomas was immersed in discussing theories and hypotheses about the advanced techniques of composite fire spells. He needed someone to talk to, someone who could engage him in meaningful conversation. Although he had questioned how the man knew about his expertise, the answer he received was simple yet convincing.

"I observed the attire you wear. The silk threads sewn into that black robe aren't just for show. The delicate gold trim embroidered on it assists in spellcasting. This robe isn't merely clothing; it's armor reinforced to enhance the wearer's defense."

"Oh, you're familiar with these spells?" Tomas inquired, probing. He knew he shouldn't casually divulge precious knowledge only he possessed. He wanted to hold back, especially since the mage knew this man had once been a craftsman.

"I know a bit because I used to be an apprentice at an armory. That is the Kehama Reaction **** Conductor, combined with the thermal energy guidance system proposed by Master Trosimar. Of course, that was before the place I worked at closed down."

Just this explanation proved the man wasn't bluffing; he truly pointed out the mysteries woven into Tomas's attire, something not many could do easily. But a craftsman? Indeed, Tomas had been advised by companions after he left the academy to wear chainmail beneath his robe for protection. It was only because nobody believed in the robe's defensive power until they witnessed it.

Most people thought Tomas's robe was merely resistant to wear and fire, probably due to the fact that it was made from leather soaked in horse urine. Knowing an expert when he saw one made Tomas exceptionally pleased.

"The Committee acquired it. You could say it was a seamless transition for me." There was bitterness in the man's last words. "I liked my old job."

Tomas recognized the expression the man wore when he spoke. He had seen it on the faces of many adventurers who had left their homes. It was a gaze lost in memories, one that could see through everything, as if viewing a scene only they knew.

Normally, Tomas wouldn't participate in such occasions. The more experienced and renowned adventurers, when sharing their pasts by the campfire, would always have that expression. If Garion D'aubigny were to do the same, it would signify he was becoming condescending, wasting the precious time of the great mage Tomas on what was called sharing but was, in reality, lecturing disguised as wisdom.

"I've always found magic to be a marvelous thing. Even if I can only perform tasks that involve drawing lines, I still consider myself fortunate."

But this man didn't. He merely extolled the beauty and wonder of magic, admiring those qualified to display and manipulate the arcane arts.

Tomas had decided to momentarily set aside his magical research work. Finding someone who truly understood his technical background and could engage in a conversation was incredibly rare, especially in the wilds. When everyone you knew might steal your years of hard-earned expertise to compete for the rewards you struggled to obtain, it was hard to open up and discuss your discoveries and research insights.

"Oh, do you think you're qualified to talk to me about magic? After all, very few truly comprehend its intricacies. But don't worry, perhaps one day you'll learn a trick or two, though it will take considerable time and wisdom. Of course, if you need some advice or want to try some elemental magic I'm proficient in, perhaps I could offer you a bit of guidance. But remember, this isn't something you can learn haphazardly; it requires talent and perseverance, something I happen to excel at in this regard." These words were nearly the same set Tomas had used with Lukas initially, until the latter astonishingly discovered he grasped the intricacies after a few simple exercises. Since then, Tomas's once enthusiastic sharing had dropped to freezing point and ceased entirely.

"Oh, that's truly dazzling," the man continued, "I saw you demonstrating your magic to that boy just because he wanted to practice."

"Exactly, or if you want to learn some real magic... in this world, true knowledge and power belong to only a select few, don't they? I'm just fulfilling my duty, trying to impart my brilliance to those who barely have a glimmer of potential. But sadly, most can only look up to me, never reaching my heights," Tomas said, trying hard not to appear too arrogant. But perhaps he didn't notice that his words gave him a slightly condescending air.

"Really amazing, though I don't quite understand it."

"No worries, I can tell you all sorts of similar things." Tomas spoke with pride, seemingly unwavering in his position and abilities. In conversations, his tone was always tinged with a hint of disdain, as if he were the only voice worth listening to. He would tirelessly talk about his achievements and knowledge, often disregarding or directly mocking others' opinions.

"I've heard similar rumors; people say you need to practice tens of thousands of times to successfully inscribe a rune suitable for casting magic. So, to shorten the practice, Eitrena's theory replaced Master Trosimar's third-power theory in thermal energy guidance systems."

"Replaced? No, that's just witch's talk. I'm telling you, it's impossible!" Tomas immediately raised his voice upon hearing the man's statement. "Ah, the common prejudices. Yes, perhaps shortening the practice time is important, but what good is the time you save if it doesn't protect you from a fatal blow? Eitrena is a witch, and we all know what witches are like. What great magic can be written by someone who haggles for petty advantages? Tch..."

"But armor made using Eitrena's method is indeed cheap and quick to produce. Many private armies of nobles use such customized armor, don't they?"

"Cheap? Quick? What's the benefit of making something like that to save on costs and time? Use the saved time to cook and do laundry? Oh, I forgot. After all, witches also have to take care of their families, don't they? Those Housemaid..." The mage's expression contorted as if he had tasted something sour, his tone dripping with disdain. "...with big bellies, still fantasizing about having multiple roles? Hah, those stupid, opportunistic cows who don't understand their place. Not to mention the countless errors introduced into magical heritage over hundreds of years because of them! Those damned abbreviations and specimen designs, it's a blasphemy against classical, orthodox arcane culture. Ha! In my opinion, mere women should never dare to touch dreams and glory that belong exclusively to men... By the way, I noticed the armor you wear has a lot of inscriptions, but I haven't seen that method before..."

"I don't really understand either; the Committee members requested us to dress like this," the man nodded, responding casually. "Oh yes, it would be so much better if every woman would obediently stay home, cook, and take care of the children."

"Exactly! You've said it so well. How can we let women and fools use magic freely? It will only **** the art of magic. This reminds me of a joke about a foolish pointy-eared woman I witnessed before... this one I saw with my own eyes!"

Tomas began to tell his stories.

In the first story, Tomas recounted the mistake-maker who had compromised the entire squad's covert operation. The man noticed that Tomas was narrating this story as if he had personally experienced it, though Tomas claimed he had heard it from a friend. Several times during the story, Tomas almost slipped and used "I" instead of "he," especially during the most tense parts. In this tale, Tomas was acutely aware of the detailed process of casting fire support on the battlefield, all under the protection of an unnamed elven archer.

In the second story, Tomas described the battle against a horde of ogres, and the man noticed Tomas had confused the source of this story. Tomas initially started with a story from a friend but ended up claiming a relative had told him. Clearly, Tomas knew the detailed process of casting fire support on the battlefield under the protection of an unnamed elven archer.

In the third story, Tomas fervently spoke about a chase that had taken place on a treacherous frozen plateau, where he, Tomas, had been both the leader rallying the captured adventurers' squad and the key figure in the counterattack. However, when the man inquired about the details of Tomas's former subordinates who had followed him, Tomas couldn't provide complete and accurate answers. Instead, Tomas was acutely aware of the detailed process of casting fire support on the battlefield under the protection of an unnamed elven archer.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth stories followed suit. Regardless of the number of stories, with their varied beginnings, different developments, and similar endings, the climax always involved Tomas stepping in and saving the day. The mastermind behind the troubles was usually a pointy-eared female elf. Even in the few stories deviating from this pattern, Tomas usually played the role of peacemaker in conflicts. Every story had another carefully detailed part: Tomas was acutely aware of the detailed process of casting fire support on the battlefield under the protection of an unnamed elven archer.

During Tomas's recounting of his heroic deeds, young Lukas returned once. Still, he was driven away by the mage, who stated, "This is a conversation between men." Lukas seemed somewhat regretful but quickly expressed his determination to meet the Committee's training requirements, aiming to become the most successful volunteer soldier. What qualification exactly? Probably just the qualification to attend gatherings without being told, "Kid, this isn't a place for you."

With skilled finesse, the man controlled the flow of the conversation. He had found Tomas's vulnerability. Whenever there was any criticism or challenge towards Tomas, he became extremely sensitive, even irritable. Tomas didn't allow others to see his weaknesses, always striving to maintain his superiority. In twenty minutes and a few seconds more, the man became Tomas's newest best friend, especially when he admitted he didn't understand magic and wasn't good at it. Yet, Tomas still didn't know the man's name because, after sharing the brandy, it evidently didn't matter.

Tomas, already talkative, became even more loquacious under the influence of ****, explaining thousands of nuances about fire magic, along with a plethora of his heroic adventures as an adventurer.

The more the mage drank, the more the logic and sequence of the stories disappeared. However, one thing was not easy to mix up: the same carefully detailed part—the detailed process of casting fire support on the battlefield under the protection of an unnamed elven archer.

Only this part was crystal clear. Even if the size of the team varied, the bounty varied, and the mission locations ranged from south to north and then from west to east... yes, Tomas was acutely aware of how to coordinate with a certain unnamed elven archer, understanding all the details of casting fire support on the battlefield. He could provide examples of elven warrior habits, preferred bow styles, dietary preferences, some intimate customs known only to elves, dialects, attire, and meanings.

Perhaps this elf wasn't several different elves but the same one. The man listening to the mage's stories thought, probably a female elven adventurer who had a special fondness for the mage. Although he didn't understand why the mage had parted ways with this highly compatible companion and joined a new organization from scratch. But if this was about realizing the organization's founding principles, the pros and cons of human factors had to be considered.

If Tomas were employed as staff, and the organization's instructions involved harming people Tomas knew from the past, would the Tomas the organization paid heavily for be loyal in executing the task?

The man, playing the role of a listener, pondered this question.

The orders from the Committee were absolute. If an employee couldn't fulfill a command due to personal reasons, then suitable judgments had to be considered. Because all orders came from the Committee. The Committee only made decisions for the sustainable development of humanity. That decision would be, and could only be, one thing.

It had nothing to do with race, lineage, religion, region, or historical boundaries. Humanity first. Always humanity first.

The Committee conveyed these principles and philosophies in detail to the man, who understood and accepted them wholeheartedly. He even thought it was sad that others didn't grasp these principles. But that didn't matter because the Committee never intended to **** everyone to understand and agree with these principles. As long as those who understood these ideals were willing to be agents of these principles in the world.

This was why the man's armor and decorations were covered in words. Those words were a vessel, a message. A way of understanding everything in the world from different perspectives, a firm commitment to the vision of the continued development and prosperity of humanity. Nothing was allowed to obstruct this fact, and no interference was permitted to prevent this fact from happening.

The Committee did indeed request that the man and his colleagues wear equipment and clothing adorned with articles, sizes, details, and chapters that spelled out 'Humanity First.' But that was a change requested by the man himself, deeply moved by the concept of 'Humanity First.'

"I am more than willing to offer everything I have for the Committee's ideals and principles."

"If I were to die for this principle, I would want to wear it."

To continuously uphold what one firmly believed in until **** could be said to be the embodiment of fanaticism.

"Because Humanity First, because the existence of humanity allows everything else to exist."

They swore, and they pledged to do it. They abandoned their past identities, underwent training, and were reborn. They became agents. They became executors. They became eyes and ears. They had no room for retreat; everything they believed in was worn on their sleeves. Except for them, no one recognized the meaning conveyed by these words. Naturally, because these were words understood only by the man and those who shared his convictions. The person who taught these words was the former chairman of the Committee, who had long since passed away. The one who taught the words to the previous chairman's generation was from the generation before that.

The mage wanted to rise to a high position within the organization, and the man assessed that if he couldn't accept this ideology, he wouldn't have a chance. This was an unwritten rule. Even though Tomas had the typical arrogance of a gifted individual, the current Tomas was also a self-promoter with rich adventurer experience. Experience, that qualification, could elevate the overall quality and abilities of the volunteer soldiers if properly absorbed; this was an undeniable fact. Being pragmatic had always been the man's style. So, having him act as an echoing machine who only nodded in agreement, emitted canned laughter, and praised was acceptable.

If this guy wasn't really that easy to figure out, then I must have overestimated my expectations wrong. An adventurer who had operated near the veteran adventurer Garion D'aubigny for years, not learning any mature behavior and stable attitudes—perhaps because someone had been protecting him so well behind the scenes? So who could it be? Who had been constantly revolving around this mage, accompanying him in his antics and adventures? A college-educated classical theory advocate with no real combat experience before becoming an adventurer, accepted and led by someone right after entering society? Absolutely.

The man held back his answer about 'who,' but one thing was certain. "If it's non-human and hinders the prosperity and development of humanity, it will be a confirmed **** sentence."

The prosperity and development of humanity were simple, really. A simple basic framework principle: there had to be numbers. Enough humans qualified as development and prosperity. What constituted enough? More births, more sustenance, more opportunities to be led and contribute to development, and naturally, these opportunities would increase.

Ordinary men didn't dislike elves, especially beautiful female elves, but when it came to the fundamental principle of the Committee: the continuous development of humanity, oh, that was an entirely different matter. Similarly, those disgusting races that used females of other species for breeding, they should all be thoroughly eradicated. How to eradicate them? Those repugnant and blasphemous beings should be caught from every inch of the planet and undergo purification by fire. Every inch of the land they walked upon should be bombed, disinfected, and cleansed. Then disinfect, cleanse, and bomb again. After that, maybe the land could be reluctantly reclaimed.

As for those who were 'once contaminated,' individuals who 'admire and obsess over this aberration,' those who hope to utilize these labeled as 'profane species,' and even those non-human hybrids or impure 'breeders.'

They all should be thoroughly eradicated for the sake of the remaining people.

"Should I throw out a few key words and let this big mouth talk about what he knows, or should I listen to his self-praise a bit longer?" the man pondered. "No, waiting might make him realize he's talking too much."

So, the man started probing the mage.

"Every story you've told is fascinating. I can't imagine any arcane practitioner from a prestigious academy having experiences as splendid as yours."

"Of course, my experiences, even if modestly stated, are brilliantly unique."

"Yes, tell me, who else has been through so many adventures and come out unscathed?"

In response to the man's question, the magician, who had initially intended to steer the conversation, entered a state of hesitation for the first time.

"What? What are you trying to say? Who cares about those failures?"

"Fact. Not many people can endure life after amputation."

The man, abandoning his previous praising listener demeanor, spoke urgently and indisputably, "Considering most retirees often can't live independently, the remaining years their retirement savings can support them, on average, is one year and two months."

"What?"

"It's harsh, but have you ever heard of any legendary adventurer who peacefully lived into old age? I mean, past sixty and still refusing voluntary retirement?"

"Well, I do know a few... uh, elves don't count, probably just one."

"I do too; they are rare." The man continued the conversation. "People who know how to defend themselves are everywhere, but adventurers disabled or killed in action keep appearing. But I think I know one, a sort of old legend. Thanks to your stories, I recalled this person."

Tomas wasn't pleased that he wasn't the center of discussion, but his pride had enough strength to make him inquire, "Who?"

"Garion D'aubigny," the man said the name with a dignified tone, supplementing it with his knowledge of the man: "His footsteps have traversed several kingdoms, even delving deep into Eladri's territory. Legend has it that he excels in wielding the warhammer, a weapon that even slew the dragon fall. No champion from any country could match him in fair one-on-one combat."

"Hmph, that stubborn old lunatic." The magician sneered dismissively. "He's an old fool who thinks just because he was born a few years earlier, had a few more meals, he can insist on making us do all these thankless tasks. Maybe he can win in brainless contests that don't require magic, but he knows nothing about even the basics of magic..."

"Still, he at least lives healthier than most others?"

Tomas heard this and began his response by slamming his cup onto the table: "That's because others bear the injuries for that old lunatic! The incomprehensible Garion is a troublemaker who just piles endless work on his companions! He's a thorough, irredeemable lunatic control freak!"

Ignoring the man's 'is that so? He's a legend, after all' expression, the magician continued to pour out more complaints.

"I had the chance to work with him, no, I was cursed to work with him!" Tomas's features contorted as he imitated someone's tone while complaining, "‘Tomas, the left flank's firepower is too weak. You have to find a way to overcome the right-handed spellcaster's nature.' 'Tomas, stop using such lengthy incantations. Leave the classical stuff back at the academy.' 'Tomas, plan ahead in your actions. Don't move without a prepared plan.' 'Tomas, always keep track of how many times you can cast your spells. It's basic.' 'You can't just favor fire elves, Tomas.'... Oh, for fuck's sake! Look at him, always so damn talkative. He doesn't know my abilities and talents, so that old man just keeps running his mouth, never knowing when to shut up, huh!?"

Still listening, the man decided to throw out a few more words, serving as bait, or else he couldn't imagine how far the topic would veer from what he intended.

"...Well, it seems that beneath any hero's shiny facade, it's all made up of countless messy details. Because I can't imagine that the ace of the adventurer guild, as legend has it, would be such a difficult person to get along with."

"Yes, yes, that guy just refuses to accept anyone else's habits!" Tomas, now red in the face and neck, raised his cup, loudly agreeing. "But I heard he led many goblin hunting operations. These large-scale events often involve multiple adventurer guild branches from different jurisdictions, touching on sensitive issues at various countries' borders. Often, each operation lasts for more than a few months, and the teams participating in the hunt can reportedly receive bounties collected by Garion D'aubigny, who supposedly gathered sponsors from all around. His popularity among the common folk is said to make certain nobles uneasy."

"That's it!" More froth spilled over the edge of the cup as Tomas waved it around, making it nearly impossible for the excited magician to drink. But he had had enough already. "You know he serves those stinking farmers with pitchforks and the fools washing clothes by the river through those goblin-hunting activities. It's all under his name, but who knows the people who worked hard for his ideas? Do you know who labored to ensure there was enough bounty to put up on the Adventurer Guild mission board for those hunting activities? And not just once, but multiple times before they even had enough funds to host such events?"

Tomas pointed at his own reddened nose with the hand that didn't grasp the cup. "That's where WE come in. If you say he's partly dipping into his own pockets and partly fear-mongering to **** other merchants to fund the preparations, that's quite impressive. But do you know that the part he's supposed to handle himself, did he actually do it? Guess who did? Me! And other damn fools..."

"You all pitched in money?"

"How could that be? Me? Don't even think that I would voluntarily throw money into this thankless pit of loss! I was just, hic, just **** to contribute with my labor, hic..."

No words followed the hiccup; it was Tomas's final response before he collapsed, completely drunk.

The listening man stood up at this point. He bent down over Tomas. He pried open the magician's eye and then grabbed Tomas's hand, pressing it with two fingers while murmuring numbers. He did this for no more than three minutes before shaking his head, releasing the tightly grasped wrist, and straightening up, moving away from Tomas.

In the cargo car of the train, the man who had been drinking with the wizard returned to his original spot in that inconspicuous corner. He sat there, his steel armor with white words . His eyes were deep and tranquil, bearing no resemblance to the admiration he had shown earlier as the listener. He now resembled a statue, impervious to any influence. His gaze pierced through the window, where the rushing scenery blurred by. His brow furrowed slightly. With the train's vibrations, his fingers tapped gently on his knee. He was contemplating the conversation that had just transpired.

'...I didn't even get a chance to use the truth serum. After questioning him for a while, I'm not sure if this outcome counts as a failure or success. The thing I wanted to know most, information about the 'Blight Goblins' didn't yield a single piece of useful data. The person rumored to have the most insight into this, adventurer Garion D'aubigny, seems to be the key. But choosing Tomas as the source was a mistake; he talks more clearly and lengthily about himself than others do. Oh well, there will be other chances. Since Garion, standing with the Church, refuses to share his information, we have other channels for eavesdropping.'