The glow of the screen reflected on the woman's face, highlighting her delicate, smoke-like brows. Gradually, her beautiful eyes widened: "In their pursuit of the ultimate magical power, the ancient arcane masters, after exhausting their own potential, turned their focus to magical artifacts. During that era, countless divine artifacts were born from the hands of arcane masters, but these artifacts were not the pinnacle of the power they sought. After years of research, finally, at the end of the ancient era, just before the Great Cataclysm, the arcane masters created the supreme masterpiece of arcane arts—the Relic of Saint Elron."

　　"The Relic of Saint Elron, the supreme masterpiece of the ancient arcane masters, the pinnacle of magical civilization—the arcane clone of the arcanist, perfectly inheriting the power of the original body, and able to extend even more unique magical abilities... Could that map of the broken remains be the clue to the Relic of Saint Elron?"

　　Withdrawing her gaze, a smile blossomed on the woman's face, stunning and mysterious. "In other words, after 'Night Lord' officially launches, maybe I can try using this identity I don't understand..."

Volume One: Beginning · Wind Whisper Town

Prologue: Simple Task

　　"Dear passengers, you may now..."

　　In the cabin, a sweet voice came from the speakers, reminding travelers that the plane had entered the stratosphere and that those who needed to could now unfasten their seatbelts.

　　Soaring above the clouds, the plane was at its most stable at this time. Passengers should not have felt anything unusual, but some people always prefer to have their feet on solid ground, used to being rooted. Once in the air, they have strong reactions.

　　Now, that situation had arrived.

　　In the business class cabin, a few passengers began to show various symptoms of airsickness. The passenger sitting in front of Charles Bennett started shouting that his head was splitting, while the bald old man beside him looked as if he was about to vomit, his shiny scalp flushed and veins bulging on his neck, as if he might spew at any moment.

　　At this moment, the beautiful, tall flight attendants sprang into action, patiently explaining things to the young man complaining of a headache. Another flight attendant approached the old man beside Charles Bennett, her sincere, beautiful, and friendly smile immediately making the bald old man stop his retching, sit up straight, and repeatedly thank her as he accepted the airsickness bag.

　　To everything happening around him, Charles Bennett seemed oblivious, head down, flipping through a magazine without even looking up, as if the report on the century's blockbuster game—"Night Lord"—was far more captivating.

　　To prevent possible airsickness during the flight, the attractive flight attendant, after handing the airsickness bag to the bald old man, kindly asked Charles Bennett if he needed one as well. The man glanced up slightly at her words, gave her a dismissive wave as if shooing a fly, and declined her kindness. This rude attitude immediately drew a sideways glare from the bald old man, who muttered in a not-too-soft voice, complaining that Charles Bennett was impolite.

　　After the flight attendant walked away, the bald old man kept grumbling beside him, his nagging voice making the already irritable Charles Bennett even more annoyed.

　　Closing the newspaper, Charles Bennett turned his head and stared directly at the old man. The man's brows slanted sharply upward, almost reaching his temples—a pair of sword-like brows!

　　With just a slight raise of his brow, a natural air of arrogance emanated from him, making the bald old man uneasy, as if his mouth had suddenly been zipped shut, and he dared not utter another word.

　　But Charles Bennett continued to stare at the old man, his eyes sweeping over the shiny scalp, then suddenly laughed and said, "Old man, that chick's chest is pretty big! Is it a C cup?"

　　The bald old man was already nervous from being stared at, and as he was looking down, not daring to glance sideways, he suddenly heard this sentence. Instantly, the image of the flight attendant's full, barely graspable chest flashed through his mind, and he subconsciously replied, "More than a C cup, I think at least a D..."

　　His voice cut off abruptly as the bald old man suddenly realized what he was saying. His face turned bright red, and his whole head nearly buried itself in the airsickness bag, not daring to say another word.

　　"Hmph!"

　　Charles Bennett snorted coldly, his eyes casually sweeping over the curvaceous, youthful, and beautiful flight attendants not far away. A sharp glint flashed in his pupils, as if stripping away the layers of their uniforms, outlining in his mind the alluring bodies of these beautiful flight attendants. He confirmed to himself once again: "Excellent flexibility, well-rounded legs, muscles slightly more developed than the average woman; waist is firm and strong, capable of a wide range of movement; no firearms or cold weapons hidden in the chest or underarms. Conclusion: not dangerous, ordinary people without special training."

　　He mulled over this assessment in his mind three times, and finally felt at ease. He turned to the last page of the magazine in his hand, where a colorful spread showcased the seven major classes of the upcoming blockbuster game—"Night Lord." The distinctive character designs made a huge visual impact, making one want to learn more about this so-called epic game.

　　"'Night Lord,' huh? After this E-rank bounty hunter assessment task is over, I can play it during the holidays. An epic game, as my first game, shouldn't be too stupid."

　　After making his decision, Charles Bennett's previously gloomy mood finally improved. He casually put the magazine away, leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes to rest, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

　　...