Translator: Barnnn â—†Anecdote from the Guard at the Eastern Gate of the Royal Castle Did you feel that wind this morning? I mean REALLY feel it? Where were you — oh, west side, huh. Lucky you. No, no, it wasn’t just a normal gust.
Translator: Barnnn On a crisp autumn morning, the air at the horsebus station carried a faint chill, hinting at the deepening season. Ize rubbed her bleary eyes as she stood carrying a massive backpack that dwarfed her small frame, almost as large as the one she used for club activities. Her gaze drifted towards the ticket window, where Hal was busy negotiating their fare, his own oversized pack slung awkwardly over his back.
Translator: Barnnn With several days of effort, the preparations for their impending journey were nearly complete. Their large but lightweight backpacks had been packed to the brim with various random items. In truth, the bags had been purchased only to hide the existence of their Magic Bags, disguised as Hal’s bangle and Ize’s ring. The ruse they had devised was simple: they would pretend to rummage through their packs while secretly retrieving items from…
Translator: Barnnn The next morning, the duo lingered a while in the comfort of their inn before setting out for the Adventurers’ Guild. They had already confirmed they were eligible to register as adventurers, but now came the official process. More importantly, they sought knowledge — information about as many combat skills as they could find.
Translator: Barnnn Long ago, in that once prosperous land, there stood a Dungeon. Not just any Dungeon, but a Rank 1 — one of the most formidable and vast of all. None had ever reached its innermost chambers. When a Deluge, the catastrophic overflow of the Dungeon’s monstrosities, was drawing near, ten individuals were summoned from Earth.
Translator: Barnnn “This… could it be?” Ize’s voice trembled.
Translator: Barnnn “Under normal circumstances, I would not be involved in the life of an otherworlder — at least not directly. Yet here we are…”
Translator: Barnnn In the edge of Lazulesia, the royal capital of the Kingdom of Lazulseed, stood a small church whose timeworn walls whispered of centuries past. Its solemn presence contrasted with the lively marketplace and the townsfolk rushing about their daily business. On this particular day, the local Padre, a man with kind eyes framed by gentle laugh lines, noticed a pair of young figures near the church’s entrance. Huddled together in quiet conversation,…
