Chapter 36: An Unusual New Day

The gentle light of dawn settled over the square, soft rays filtering through the thin mist still clinging to the tent roofs. The air was fresh and cool, and the chirping of birds rose in intervals, waking people from the long night’s sleep.
The soldiers began to stir, moving slowly yet in good order. The small campfires crackled softly, their warmth a comforting sound in the morning stillness. They ate breakfast in haste, sometimes exchanging brief words. Their eyes still carried traces of fatigue, yet shone with quiet determination.
When the meal ended, a light clap sounded like a signal. A chorus of brisk footsteps followed as the soldiers began dismantling the camp—folding tent cloth neatly, stacking gear in precise order.
At the center of the square stood a brand-new horse-drawn carriage, purchased in town just the day before. The wood still carried the scent of fresh lumber, with nothing ornate or luxurious in its design. Inside, Celestia and Charlotte sat upright, their gaze pure yet resolute. Aaron was there as well, looking utterly worn out after spending half the previous day coming up with excuses for why he was present at all.
Around the carriage, stalwart knights stood guard. Among them were Vice-Captains Fay and Amar, both escorting the carriage. Their swords hung neatly at their hips, and their armor—though not overly polished—was sturdy and dependable, much like their spirit.
These were the very knights who had once accompanied Princess Charlotte to the Dungeon on horseback, only to lose all their warhorses—whether abandoned or dead—when they were imprisoned in the dark stone cells. Now, on their return, not a single one intended to ride again.
Fay and Amar stood in the middle of the formation, eyes steady. They refused to mount, seeing it not only as a show of physical toughness but also a lesson in willpower.
Their footsteps pressed firmly against the stone ground, solid and unwavering, as if relearning how to master their own bodies after months of captivity and hardship.
For the knights, this was a way to temper themselves—to prove their unyielding spirit even in the darkest circumstances, and to let every step be a silent vow of loyalty and defiance on behalf of the Empire and Princess Charlotte.
Anatolia moved quietly at the rear.
Following her was Mo Gang, of course tagging along to claim his reward.
When the formation stopped for roll call before departure, Celestia stood at the center, her gaze sharp and commanding. Fortunately, she wasn’t the one doing the task today; another soldier had been assigned to read out each name.
Gen let out a quiet sigh of relief. If Celestia noticed and remembered him, he would almost certainly be in for a brutal “lecture” for deserting and shirking his duties.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves rang out as soldiers raised their banners high, creating a vivid tableau of dignity and unity. Each step, each hoofbeat echoed like the strong heartbeat of the nation, marching out of the town under the gaze of all.
Gen walked leisurely at the very end of the formation, just as he had when they first arrived. His expression was blank, his pace neither quick nor slow, blending into the faint clink of armor and the measured march of the troops. But this was only an Umbral Avatar—a shadow-forged duplicate. He looked like a misplaced figure, a ghost moving among the disciplined soldiers in uniform.
The real Gen was still in his small inn room, leisurely bending down to tie the laces of his boots as the first light of morning crept onto the windowsill. No sweat, no dust on his clothes—he looked as though he had enjoyed a far better night’s rest than anyone out in the square. The quiet where he sat was the perfect contrast to the noisy urgency outside.
He reached for his backpack by the bed. Inside, the dragon egg still rested snugly, its shell shimmering with a faint, hazy glow and radiating a steady warmth. Gen adjusted its position carefully to secure it before fastening the bag shut.
Once ready, he slung the pack over his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight settle against his back, and stepped lightly across the creaking wooden floor. Without speaking, he gestured for Dolly to follow. She obeyed without a word.
Pushing open the door, Gen cast an absent glance out the hallway window of the old inn. Morning sunlight streamed over the weathered rooftops, dappling the gray stone walls of the town. A gentle breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of fresh-baked bread from somewhere nearby, mingled with the damp smell of stone and timber after a long night. He inhaled slowly, his expression calm, and descended the rickety wooden stairs at an unhurried pace, letting the morning light spill in behind him.
The night before, upon returning, he had stopped by the market and found a small clothing shop tucked between two buildings. There, he had bought a simple set of clothes: a pale gray shirt, dark fitted trousers, and brown leather boots—the sort commonly worn by locals.
Nothing about his appearance drew attention. Just another traveler, quietly preparing for the day.
Emi lay draped over the counter as usual, legs swinging in the air. When she heard the creak of the stairs, she turned her head, her bright smile lighting up her face.
She quickly straightened up.
“You’re awake! I’ll get breakfast ready right away.”
Gen walked to the table near the window, Dolly standing silently behind him. Morning light fell at an angle over the scratched wooden surface. His eyes wandered over the empty tables.
“Not many customers in the morning?” His voice was calm, as if making idle conversation.
Emi hesitated before smiling sheepishly.
“Mm… not really. During the day, most people head to the market or the big inns by the square—it’s easier on the way to work. This place only gets busier in the evening, but even then it’s just a few Adventurers. It’s cheaper here than out there, and… well, they don’t make much money, so they probably want to save.”
Gen didn’t press further. He simply nodded and sat down.
When Emi brought his breakfast, he began eating slowly. Partway through, he set an additional gold coin on the table. Its gleam caught the sunlight streaming through the window, shining brilliantly.
Emi froze, her heart racing. A single gold Solare—a sum the inn might not even see in an entire year. In this world, ten silver Lunares equaled one gold Solare, and ten copper Terrins equaled a silver. A normal person would have to work for a whole month just to earn a single silver coin, let alone gold.
Her father had passed away, leaving behind a debt for the inn’s repairs that she and her mother were still struggling to pay off. With customers scarce, their earnings barely covered daily expenses. Emi had only seen gold a handful of times in her life, and never once had it been hers.
“Uh… yesterday… you already gave two gold coins,” she said, her voice trembling as if afraid she’d miscalculated. “One for the room… one for last night’s dinner… and now… this… it’s too much…”
Gen simply pushed the coin toward her.
“Add some dried meat and bread. I’ll take it with me.”
Gold was the only currency he carried—and he had plenty of it. He had never treated money as anything more than a convenience; back on Earth, he had sold his house without hesitation to live a life without fixed roots.
Emi’s fingers trembled as they touched the coin’s edge, as though holding something far more precious than just money. She closed her hand tightly around it, afraid it might vanish if she loosened her grip.
As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, she heard her mother speaking in a low voice over a small pot of soup bubbling on the stove.
“Mother… that guest… gave another gold coin…”
“Gold? Again?”
Her mother looked up, eyes wide, almost unable to believe it.
Emi nodded, setting the coin on the counter. Light glinted off its surface, reflecting in both their eyes—part awe, part worry.
Her mother only said, “All right, get his food ready. Don’t keep him waiting.”
Emi rolled up her sleeves, taking dried meat from the wooden shelf and slicing it into thin pieces before packing it with bread. She worked quickly, but her mind was still restless—the coin was far too much for breakfast, and it left her feeling uneasy, as though she now carried an invisible debt.
Just as she set down the knife, the hinges of the inn’s front door groaned with a dry creak.
Through the doorway stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man whose frame seemed to fill the entrance. His eyes were cold and expressionless, like a blade drawn from its sheath, ready to strike at any moment.
His attire was a perfect blend of concealment and menace, a belt heavy with the hilts of throwing knives, and at his side a thin short sword.
A long scar ran from his forehead, cutting across his left eye socket and ending near his chin—a mark like fate’s own slash. It lent him a brutal, icy air that made the back of one’s neck prickle at first glance.
Mo Hamus had arrived.
Emi looked up, briefly startled by the man’s fierce appearance, but the unexpected joy of having a morning customer quickly outweighed her caution. She hastily wiped her hands on her apron and rushed out of the kitchen with a radiant smile.
“Good morning, sir! We rarely get customers this early… what would you like to eat?”
Mo Hamus froze mid-step. His sharp gaze swept across the ground floor, flicking briefly toward the woman in the kitchen before returning to where Emi stood. He had already locked onto his target—the one he had come to kill.
His eyes shifted again, landing on Gen, who sat leisurely at a table near the window, showing nothing but calm indifference. And then on Dolly beside him, wearing that strange, almost grotesque mask.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Mo Hamus’s lips.
“Looks like… my prey today comes with an unlucky companion.”
The words sounded like idle small talk, yet they carried a chilling killing intent that seeped into every corner of the once peaceful room.
Emi stood in front of Mo Hamus, still beaming with wide, sparkling eyes filled with surprise and excitement, completely oblivious to the danger.
In the very next moment, his massive hand shot out. Without a word of warning, he seized Emi by the neck as if picking up a baby bird and lifted her off the floor. Her face froze. The bright smile vanished, replaced by wide, terrified eyes.
“Not breakfast…” Mo Hamus growled coldly, “…but prey.”
Then—
Just as the words fell—
“[Shop Time].”
Another hand—hard as steel and unyielding as an iron clamp—locked tightly around Mo Hamus’s wrist. Startled, he turned his head and saw that the man who had been sitting and eating a moment ago was now standing right beside him.
“Let go… if you don’t want to lose it.”
Gen’s grip was like forged iron, cutting off the blood flow in Mo Hamus’s wrist.
…When?
Mo Hamus’s breathing slowed; his mind felt blank.
He hadn’t seen the movement at all—time itself seemed to skip a beat, and suddenly this man was right beside him, close enough for him to hear his breathing.
The flesh around his wrist groaned under the pressure, the bones threatening to shatter.
Impossible…
A fleeting flicker of fear flashed in Mo Hamus’s eyes—quickly smothered by murderous intent. But in that heartbeat, for the first time in years, his primal survival instincts screamed at him.
He clenched his teeth, his gaze turning vicious.
“[Night Veil].”
Unable to break free, Mo Hamus dropped a pitch-black smoke bomb onto the floor.
Pop!
Thick magical smoke burst forth, swirling like serpents, swallowing all light. His footsteps turned soundless, his breathing vanished into the void.
“[Blood Lotus].”
From within the smoke came the sound of wind being torn apart.
Five consecutive strikes slashed out from impossible angles.
Gen’s grip on Mo Hamus’s arm tightened even further—the bones cracked audibly, forcing the assassin to release Emi.
In an instant, Gen pulled Emi toward him and stepped back swiftly, the movement causing the deadly strikes to miss them entirely.
Mo Hamus didn’t press the attack. Instead, using the lingering smoke as cover, he decisively slipped away.
His heartbeat quickened—not out of fear, but from the bitter thrill of a predator being caught off guard.
He had thought this inn was filled with nothing but soft prey, something he could deal with directly without wasting time on stalking or trickery.
An assassin who lived in the shadows like him was not meant for head-on fights. But this time… he had been far too confident. Prey this troublesome… was nowhere in his calculations.
As the dark smoke began to thin and Mo Hamus’s figure vanished through the door, a heavy silence settled over the inn, as though time itself had paused.
Emi’s mother burst out of the kitchen, her eyes red, her face pale with panic, fear, and heartbreak.
She rushed forward and wrapped her daughter tightly in her arms.
Emi trembled, leaning against her mother’s shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the lingering fear melting away, replaced by the warmth and safety of that embrace.
“My dear… are you hurt? I thought I’d lost you…” Her mother’s voice shook, her heart aching at the sight of Emi’s terrified eyes.
It had all happened so fast—by the time she realized what was going on, it was already over.
Emi couldn’t speak; she could only cling to her mother, her little heart soothed by that boundless maternal love—a steadfast anchor in the storm of darkness she had just endured.
The small space suddenly felt warmer, softer than ever, like a faint lantern guiding them through the shadows.
Gen walked slowly back to his table, where his half-finished meal still sat. He sat down, tapped the spoon against the plate, and continued eating.
As if nothing had happened.
From time to time, his eyes drifted toward the window, as if weighing something in his mind.
The bright red name [Mo Hamus], along with the number Level 85, moved continuously in his vision. The floating text acted like a compass, allowing Gen to track his opponent even without direct sight. The letters gradually shrank, showing the increasing distance between them, until at last, they stopped somewhere far away.