Walking down the bustling street, Magus was surprised to see how much livelier the city had become. The crowd was thick with people, voices overlapping, vendors calling out, and carts rolling over the cobblestones. Among them were many figures clad in leather armor, swords and axes hanging from their belts, exuding the aura of battle-hardened adventurers.
Noticing Magus's curious gaze, Rune smiled and explained, "Since the reopening of the Black Stone Mining Area, word has spread fast. Merchant guilds from nearby provinces rushed over to seize the opportunity. Most of these people are merchants and their hired mercenaries."
Magus immediately understood.
The prosperity of a city always begins with the pulse of its economy. As long as the Black Stone Mining Area continued to produce resources, Blackstone City would thrive. Within a few short years, it could very well rise to become one of the leading cities in Golden Rock Province.
As they walked, Magus noticed a cluster of wooden sheds on one side of the road—simple shelters, hastily built. Inside, a dozen or so people moved busily about. Some were cooking porridge over makeshift stoves, while others ladled steaming bowls to the line of refugees waiting outside.
A long queue stretched from the shelter, full of ragged, hollow-eyed people. Their clothes were torn, their faces sunken with hunger. The scent of porridge made their throats bob instinctively as they swallowed dryly. Despite their desperation, none dared to rush forward. The soldiers guarding the area stood stern and silent, their presence alone enough to keep order.
"Who are they?" Magus asked quietly, his eyes lingering on the emaciated faces.
"They're refugees from the Thorn Flower Duchy to the west," Rune replied. "A war broke out there. Entire villages were burned, and countless people were displaced. I sent men to meet them halfway. My plan is to absorb them into the city."
Magus nodded thoughtfully.
Besides trade and resources, population was another pillar of prosperity. Blackstone City, being a border settlement, had long suffered from a sparse population. Even its army barely numbered five hundred men—a glaring weakness. Without solving that, no matter how rich the mines became, the city could never truly grow strong. Forming a cavalry regiment would remain an impossible dream.
But Rune's decision to accept refugees was a clever one. Those who survived such long, perilous journeys were often young and sturdy—men and women with strong bodies and resilient wills. Once rested and fed, they could immediately become laborers. Some might even join the army, bolstering Blackstone City's defenses and strength.
Before Magus could speak, Rune's voice took on a sharp edge. "Before winter arrives, I intend to take the initiative and attack the Black Scale Lizardmen tribes in the Redhorn Wasteland."
Magus raised an eyebrow. "An offensive campaign?"
Rune's eyes gleamed with determination. "Exactly. If we move the battlefield to their territory, Blackstone City will be spared the devastation of raids and skirmishes."
Magus understood. Rune didn't need to voice the other reason—they both knew it well.
The blood of the Black Scale Lizardmen was a valuable resource. With it, Blackstone City could cultivate more Knights. The more blood they obtained, the stronger their forces would grow.
As they walked, their conversation turned toward recent events in Golden Rock Province. When Rune mentioned that the Storm Earl had been ambushed and gravely wounded, falling into a coma, Magus was stunned.
"The Storm Earl himself? He's a Great Knight, isn't he? How could anyone possibly ambush him?" Magus frowned. "His security should have been impenetrable."
Rune nodded grimly. "Under normal circumstances, yes. But the assassin was no ordinary killer. He was connected to the Starfire Church."
"The Starfire Church?" Magus repeated, his brow furrowing. "I've heard the name, but not much else."
"It's a cult that emerged over ten years ago," Rune explained. "They rose rapidly—too rapidly. In just a few years, they spread across the Principality, building influence in every province. No one knows their true purpose. They're shrouded in secrecy, yet they've been linked to several nobles… and at the same time, they assassinate nobles. It's an enigma."
The more Magus listened, the more uneasy he became. The speed at which the Starfire Church had grown—it almost defied logic. Could it be that a Wizard or Apprentice was supporting them from behind the scenes?
He tried to recall what he knew, but nothing solid came to mind. When he had played the game in his previous life, it was already version 2.0. Anything that happened in the early days of version 1.0—unless it was directly related to the Wizards—he had barely paid attention to. The Starfire Church must have been one of those obscure storylines he had skipped over.
As his thoughts drifted, a sudden commotion erupted from ahead. The noise of shouting and laughter echoed through the air.
They had turned a corner and were now standing near the tavern. Its doors were flung open, light spilling out onto the street. From inside came waves of raucous cheers and drunken voices.
Curious, they entered. The smell of ale and sweat hit immediately. Inside, a crowd had gathered around a central table where two burly men sat facing each other. Both had massive mugs in hand, chugging ale as fast as they could while the crowd roared around them.
The drinkers were red-faced and determined, every gulp followed by a thunderous cheer from their supporters. The tension was thick with excitement, the tavern floor sticky with spilled beer.
Magus's gaze swept across the crowd—and stopped on one of the drinkers.
The man was in his mid-twenties, with rugged features and a heavy mane of body hair. His bare chest and arms were thickly covered, and his amber eyes gleamed under the light, feral and sharp—more like those of a wild beast than a human.
"Beastman," Magus muttered under his breath.
Rune turned toward him in surprise, but Magus's gaze remained fixed.
Beastmen were the product of ancient Wizard experiments—hybrids between man and beast. They were known for their raw physical power and violent tempers. In ancient times, the first generation of Beastmen had caused the infamous Beastman Calamity, slaughtering countless humans before they were finally suppressed by Wizards.
Over the centuries, their bloodline weakened. Later descendants retained their strength but gained enough sanity to live among humans. Even so, they were rare—most Beastmen lived far away in the Crimson Gold Empire.
Beastmen could not practice the Breathing Method, yet their natural strength far surpassed that of ordinary humans. An adult Beastman's raw power equaled that of an Apprentice Knight, and some—those with stronger bloodlines—could even rival true Knights after rigorous training. However, their lifespan was short, and their fertility low, which made them an uncommon sight in most of the continent.
To encounter one here, in Blackstone City, was remarkable.
Before Magus could say more, a voice sounded beside him. "Few can recognize Otta's heritage at first glance. You have a keen eye, sir."
Magus turned. A tall, well-dressed man in a crimson fox-fur coat approached with a genial smile. His presence exuded confidence and wealth.
"Lord, it's been a while," the man greeted Rune first, bowing respectfully before turning back to Magus. "And you are?"
"Magus," he replied simply, giving a polite nod. Judging by the man's attire and demeanor, he had already guessed his identity.
Rune confirmed it. "This is my younger brother, Tyrion Ismail, head of the Firefox Merchant Guild."
"An honor, Sir Magus," Tyrion said warmly, extending his hand.
Magus shook it lightly, his expression calm. But behind Tyrion's courteous smile, his thoughts churned.
According to his intelligence reports, this second young master of the Flash family was said to be a recluse—someone who rarely left his room, preferring to bury himself in odd experiments and obscure studies. Such a man shouldn't have recognized Otta's Beastman blood at a glance, nor carried himself with such composure.
The reports also claimed that Magus lacked Knightly aptitude altogether—that he couldn't even master the Breathing Method and had the frail constitution of a scholar. Yet the man standing before him now was tall, steady, and radiant with energy. His eyes were sharp and alert—nothing like the sickly shut-in described in the files.
Tyrion's smile didn't falter, but his mind raced. What kind of information had those fools gathered?
Useless, sloppy work.
He would need to have a serious word with his informants later.
As Rune and Tyrion began exchanging updates about trade, mercenaries, and supply routes, Magus observed them quietly. Tyrion's every gesture was measured, his tone confident yet never arrogant. His merchant's instincts were evident in how he spoke—each word polished, each smile calculated. Rune, in contrast, carried himself with the straightforward pride of a lord accustomed to command.
To Magus, the contrast was fascinating. Rune built strength through armies and blood, while Tyrion expanded influence through gold and commerce. And in Blackstone City, both were indispensable.
As their conversation continued, Magus's thoughts drifted again—to the mines, the refugees, the Starfire Church, and the Beastmen. Each thread seemed separate now, yet somehow, deep in his instincts, he sensed they would eventually intertwine.
For a city to rise, he thought, prosperity alone was never enough. Wealth invited ambition, and ambition invited conflict.
And in Blackstone City, both were already brewing.