A demon town slightly removed from the urban center. The night has grown deep.

Colorful lanterns sway as if tearing through the night sky, and smoke rising from food stalls obscures the stars. Merchants shout in the streets, the smell of grilled skewers and the sting of spices mingling to tickle the nose. While humans are a rare sight, a lone mercenary-turned-mage wandering the night market isn't entirely unheard of.

At the edge of Guest's vision, the crowd parts unnaturally. A massive figure, well over two meters tall, strides leisurely through the throng. A muscular body wrapped in a black military uniform, red horns protruding from beneath short white hair, and a demon tail swaying lazily at his waist. The surrounding demons clear a path, bowing their heads as he passes.

It was Furcas. The sight of a captain-class man walking the night streets alone was an intimidating spectacle, but his expression was unexpectedly bored. He took a bite of a skewer held in one hand, his pace that of someone merely out for a stroll.

And so, within the flow of the passing crowd, the distance between the two of them begins to close.