Crustfold moved through the snowy streets of Zinon, his boots crunching rhythmically against the thick frost that blanketed the ground like a silent warning. Each step released a faint echo into the quiet city, as though Zinon itself was listening... watching.

The air was cold enough to bite at the skin, yet the streets weren’t empty. Figures cloaked in furs and armor passed by, their breaths fogging in the chilled atmosphere, their eyes sharp and calculating. No one lingered. No one spoke without purpose.

Until he finally reached it.

A massive structure stood ahead of him—imposing, dominant, impossible to ignore. It rose at the convergence of several wide streets, almost as if the entire city had been built around it. The largest building Oliver had seen in all of Zinon.

Its towering glass exterior reflected the pale light of the snow-filled sky, giving it an almost ethereal glow, like something both sacred and dangerous.

With its size and geographical placement, there was no doubt.

This building was the heart of Zinon.

"I guess this is it," Crustfold whispered to himself, his voice barely escaping his lips as he approached the large transparent doors.

They loomed over him, pristine and untouched, yet carrying an invisible weight.

He placed a hand on the cold surface.

For a brief moment, he paused.

Then slowly... he pushed.

The doors opened with a soft hiss, like the building itself had acknowledged his presence.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

In Zinon, there was a special aspect that set it apart from every other safe zone—something that made it not only different... but superior.

It possessed a structure known as the Guild’s Test.

A place where multiple parties, solo players, and even full-scale guilds gathered to establish themselves.

Here, players didn’t just survive.

They built reputations.

They took missions dropped by the system, accepted requests from other players, and carved their names into something greater than mere survival.

It was a controlled ecosystem of growth.

A system.

A ladder.

A battlefield disguised as opportunity.

Instead of wandering aimlessly through forests filled with unpredictable beasts, players here had direction. Efficiency. Purpose.

Which meant faster leveling.

Better materials.

Stronger fighters.

’Explains how Zinon’s finest kept handing my ass over to me in my previous life,’ Crustfold thought, subconsciously rubbing his lower back as if recalling phantom pain.

The memory lingered unpleasantly.

As he stepped deeper into the vast interior, his eyes darted across the space.

The hall was enormous—far larger than what the exterior had suggested. Tables filled the central area, occupied by players engaged in quiet conversations or loud debates. A long bar stretched across one side, stocked with beverages that steamed warmly in contrast to the cold outside.

But something was... off.

’The best thing about Zinon isn’t just the mission system,’ Crustfold continued internally, his gaze narrowing slightly. ’It’s the food.’

He recalled vividly how players once bragged about it during the war.

Food consumed here translated to nourishment in their real-world bodies.

A loophole.

A blessing.

A luxury.

’If only I had been brought to Zinon instead... I would’ve saved a lot of credits. Instead of wasting them on supplies that got wiped out anyway.’

He exhaled quietly.

But as he observed the room more closely, something didn’t add up.

Despite the bar being active, despite the drinks flowing...

There was barely any food.

Only alcohol.

Hot beverages.

But no actual meals.

His suspicion sharpened instantly.

Crustfold made his way to a table at the far end of the hall, deliberately choosing a position that gave him a wide view of the room while keeping him inconspicuous.

He lowered his head slightly, pulling his hat down just enough to shadow his face.

Then he listened.

At first, the noise was chaotic—overlapping voices, scattered conversations, fragments of irrelevant chatter.

But slowly...

Carefully...

He filtered it.

And eventually, patterns began to form.

"Shit, everything’s just going to shut down here."

"They’ve got it better than us... look at them complaining about not having enough."

"Those foreigners have a messed-up brain, I swear."

They?

Crustfold’s mind caught onto the word instantly.

His attention sharpened.

There was clear hostility in their tone.

But who exactly were they referring to?

He couldn’t place it yet.

So he kept listening.

"Yeah, yeah, calm down," another voice interrupted. The sound of a chair dragging across the wooden floor followed, scraping loudly enough to turn a few heads.

Someone new had joined the table.

"You don’t know the full story."

"So what about it? What’s there to know?" another replied, irritation evident.

Then—

A laugh.

Loud.

Confident.

Mocking.

"Hahahaha... you don’t even know who you’re talking to."

There was a pause.

Then the declaration came.

"I am Bernant Kadri, the first captain under Ranker Simon. Show some respect."

The atmosphere shifted.

A few gasps.

Low murmurs.

Even Crustfold raised his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the group.

The man stood out immediately.

Scars covered his face—old, deep, layered. The most prominent one stretched across the bridge of his nose, jagged and unhealed in appearance.

His build was bulky, solid, more like a frontline enforcer than a captain.

Danger radiated from him naturally.

"Now," Bernant continued, his voice dropping slightly, but carrying more weight, "I don’t want to hear any of you spreading rumors you don’t understand."

For a moment, he sounded almost reasonable.

Almost.

But then—

"Those foreigners didn’t just cross into our hunting grounds..."

His hand slammed onto the table.

"They took our cores."

Another slam.

"They killed one of ours."

Silence spread like a ripple through the hall.

"And they expect us to just shrug it off?"

His voice rose sharply.

"No."

A pause.

Cold.

Controlled.

"I don’t want any of you going easy on them."

His gaze swept across the room.

"If those Balrum bastards cross into our territory again... kill them all."

The words landed heavily.

"Even if it’s their own territory—do the same."

A brief pause.

Then the final blow:

"Leave no witnesses. This is an order from our Ranker."

The entire hall fell silent.

"For too long, Zinon has stayed quiet..."

His voice dropped into something darker.

"But not anymore."

Crustfold swallowed.

Now it made sense.

Zinon—the so-called meek safe zone. The neutral party. The third-ranked region that avoided conflict.

To see them like this...

It was unsettling.

But also expected.

’Anger that’s been bottled up for too long... always explodes the worst way,’ he thought.

Still—

Something felt off.

’I know Balrum is brutal... but killing Zinon’s forces just for cores?’

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

’That’s not just aggression... that’s calculated.’

A beat.

’Or... suspicious.’

Instead of overthinking further, he remained still, listening.

For the next few minutes, the conversation devolved into insults—directed at Balrum, then casually redirected at Alkarya.

Noise.

Distraction.

Nothing of value.

Until—

The captain suddenly pushed his chair back.

The legs screeched loudly against the floor as he stood.

His hands slammed onto the table again.

"I’m going on a test hunt."

The room quieted instantly.

"To test... and welcome new recruits."

His gaze hardened.

"Joining us right now?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"That’s practically suicide."

Crustfold sighed internally.

’So that’s the play...’

Rile them up.

Make them emotional.

Then offer them a chance to prove themselves.

Classic.

’How lucky should I consider myself... finding this kind of opportunity?’

A pause.

Then—

"Showtime."

His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Every head turned.

Michelangelo Crustfold rose to his feet.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He adjusted his bowtie with practiced elegance, his movements calm, controlled—almost theatrical.

Then he looked up.

Fully.

Revealing his face.

The room watched.

The captain watched.

"Those hideous Balrum..." Crustfold began, his tone calm yet edged with something sharp.

His hand tightened briefly into a fist—

Then he flicked it open, as if discarding the thought entirely.

"Captain... what they’ve done is truly disgusting."

A pause.

"But expected."

His gaze swept across the room.

"With the reputation Zinon has built... being trampled on by the other two safe zones was inevitable."

His voice didn’t rise.

But it carried.

"It hurts."

A brief pause.

"But it is reality."

Then—

A subtle shift.

"So I ask..."

His eyes locked onto the captain’s.

"Allow me to assist in this mission."

The captain raised a brow.

Suspicion crept into his expression as he folded his arms.

"And who... might you be?"

Crustfold tilted his head slightly.

"Me?"

A small pause.

The gazes around him intensified.

Then—

A smile.

"But I am only the world’s greatest mystery."

He bowed, elegantly, almost mockingly.

"Your wandering magician..."

He straightened.

Eyes gleaming.

"Michelangelo Crustfold."