Aito walked out of the black portal with his hard-earned rewards in hands. Floating balls of light lit a square room large enough to easily house three thousand people if they were to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Tall, colorful walls decorated by enormous flags flaunting different colors—white, blue, red, and black—divided the room equally into four sections. At the center of it all stood Aito, who had just appeared, with a “where the fuck am I” face, as he took a quick look around him, wondering why there were so many pairs of eyes locked on him.

Around two hundred humans surrounded him in a circle that looked like some sort of urban ring where two street fighters would meet for a fight. Aito had mixed feelings about the situation, since it reminded him of the tournament, though on a much lower scale.

Suddenly, his gift “Intuition,” as well as his own personal experience, warned him of two attacks rapidly coming from both flanks. His Ancient shard in the left hand, the double-edged ax in the other. He immediately lifted both items, stopping two sword strikes. The blade, covered in yellow light, that hit the shiny piece of rock shattered, quickly followed by a painful shout.

Aito then dashed to his left, bashed a bold man with his rock, sending him flying unconscious before he landed on the ground. In an almost fluid motion, he turned to face his other opponent, who was… smiling.

“It’s you!” Ogoro said joyfully, lowering a dull sword that, compared to the other, looked normal. “Thank go… the gods you’re alive!”

Aito furrowed his brows, wondering who heck was that guy. It couldn’t be helped since he had met Ogoro only once for barely five minutes. Furthermore, the assassin had been badly wounded back then, making it even harder to recognize him now that he looked completely healthy.

“Who are you, people?” He asked, hinting at all those surrounding him who had drawn their weapons soon after his arrival. “And why are you attacking me?”

Ogoro sheathed his long sword and lifted his two hands to show he did not mean any harm. “Please, lower your weapon, it’s just a misunderstanding. You’ve appeared out of nowhere during my fight with… I forgot his name. Anyway, we were already at each other’s throats before you came. That kind of situation couldn’t be helped.”

Aito grunted. “Care to explain why the others drew their weapons then?”

The assassin signaled the crowd to calm down. Most of them hesitantly sheathed their weapons, while a few kept them in hand. “Wouldn’t you do the same if someone appeared in front of you without prior notice?”

Aito knew there was no arguing that since he would have certainly done the same or even attacked the person on sight. Three months of constant threat had made him hostile to any kind of surprise.

“As for who I am, I’m the man you saved, along with my sister, from the zombies,” Ogoro said, before bowing. “Thank you for saving my life. If I can do anything to repay you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

At those words, memories of his urgent quest flashed through Aito’s mind. He could indeed recall a man in tattered medieval armor that looked like the tall guy wearing leather armor in front of him. Also, apart from the gods, only three people knew about it. Although still wary, he slightly lowered his weapon. But before he could reply, a loud applaud resounded in the entire room.

“Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow! Impressive! Bashing Sam unconscious in such a splendid way! Oh. My. Gods! Worthy of the BLACK CHALLENGER himself!” A ginger man wearing a grey cloak said, making his way through the crowd until he finally reached Aito and Ogoro.

Upon hearing “Black Challenger,” the people started to whisper amongst each other, but hundreds of them whispering turned a supposedly silent discussion into a silent ruckus.

Aito ignored it, focusing his attention and weapon on the newcomer. “Who’s this guy?” He asked Ogoro.

“A lunatic. The walking definition of craziness, unpredictability, and a cheap bastard.” The assassin said.

Ogoro had known the man for a month now, and despite his knack for pinning down people stemming from his assassin’s past life, he had never been able to understand the man.

“Vulgar, but undeniable.” The stranger said, placing his fedora hat against his chest before bowing to greet Aito. “Apart from those, I am Roan, a merchant, memoryteller, poet, and a few other things. Amongst those, I am also your guide, especially commissioned by his Slothness, Belmand.”

Ogoro eyed him suspiciously, “You’ve never guided challengers before.”

“Indeed! But that is because I’m a five stars guide! I don’t just work for nobodies.” Roan said, using the pointy tip of his hat to point at Aito. “But he is not, a nobody. Right, BLACK CHALLENGER?”

Aito’s impatience-o-meter shot up like crazy. Why did that bastard shout “black challenger” two times? He particularly disliked the fact that people seemed to focus on him even more than before because of his damn title.

He already knew that Belmand would send someone to help him around the Tower. It was stipulated in the Oath Pact after all. However, Aito felt like Roan would bring him more problems than solutions.

Although he could be wrong. Still, he preferred to trust a god whose soul would burst if he went against his oath, rather than complete strangers he knew nothing about. Since that Roan had been sent by Belmand, then he’ll give him an ounce of trust—for now.

Seeing no reaction from Aito, Roan repeated his question. “Right, BLACK CH—”

Pissed by his previous interaction with Belmand, the surprise attack upon his arrival and now a lunatic shouting his title around to attract attention, Aito’s ax sliced the air, stopping next to Roan’s neck. “No more of that. Just do your job.”

The guide gulped, then grabbed the blade with two fingers to push it away, but couldn’t compete against Aito’s strength.

“Fine, this way, please.” the ginger man said, appearing calm despite his previous display of fear. Aito found it weird and incoherent but paid it no mind. It wasn’t his business, after all.

What mattered to him right now was to rapidly get to work. He had two months, potentially more depending on how Jack would fair on its own against evol monkeys after they start appearing again.

He couldn’t afford to be courteous and engage in chatters that he found to be a waste of time. Time was of the essence. He had learned to make the most out of it on the island, so he came to dislike the small things that appeared useless. If that guide could allow him to reach his goal faster, then good. If not, he’d forsake him without batting an eye. He owed it to Jack, who saved his tanned ass in various ways more than he could count.

The companionship, the help during fights, the emotional support the small monkey had provided. He couldn’t care less about what other people said. They might think it stupid or weird for him to consider such a small creature a friend, someone he could trust.

However, would a human have helped him the way Jack did? Would they have done better than what humans would consider a pathetic animal?

The answer was blurred, uncertain, at least if the person wasn’t important to them in one way or another. But he had no one who thought about him this way, apart from his best friend back on Earth.

His experience on the island, particularly the last month, had forced him to trust only himself and Jack. Having almost no social interaction with other humans apart from his five minutes into the red trial, it could be said that he had lost his touch. A touch that hadn’t been good after being brought out of prison to serve as a fishing slave for five months.

Aito sighed and followed Roan, who was walking toward the flag decorating a black wall. Underneath it, was a table with one burning black candle. His gaze traveled to the other flags’ tables. The white corner seemed to have thousands of white candles. The blue corner had hundreds of blue ones and the red corner two red ones. Amongst them, Aito estimated that at least a hundred candles were extinguished.

“Who are we to judge the value of a life?” Roan said, with a mysterious air while he played with the black candle, brushing past its flame with his index. “Gods? Minerians? Humans? Fearmongers? They are all the same under the watchful eyes of the Balance.”

“What are you talking about?” Aito asked, arching his brows.

“Don’t mind me,” Roan replied, before pointing at a tall Asian man walking their way. “Oh, seems like the fanboy wasn’t done talking to his hero.”

“Please wait!” Ogoro said, making his way to Aito. “Take this. It is rightfully yours.”

The giant of a man grabbed a necklace attached to his neck with a red bead as decoration and pulled to detach it, before handing the item to a wary Aito, who soon recalled why that item looked familiar.

“Is that a memory bead?” Aito asked.

“Precisely so,” Roan said, interrupting Ogoro, who was about to reply. “Did you make it yourself? No. Someone helped you. Marcus? Can only be him. Hum, good quality. What did you put in it?”

“A lifetime of hard work,” Ogoro replied.