"We've found about seventy percent of the Buena Villagers and forty percent of our merchant group," the scout continued, his eyes fixed on a point just past my shoulder.

"With more than ten percent casualties," I concluded grimly. "Even with all that preparation, we still couldn't save everyone." I stared at the maps and lists of names, some crossed out, others with question marks beside them. "So be it. Continue the search. The tracking monitors should be used more extensively."

It had taken considerable effort to gather my wits after the teleportation incident. Even with Paul and the help of others, our search for survivors remained incomplete.

It was thanks to Claude's brutal training regimen that more children had survived than might have otherwise. His harsh methods, which I had questioned at the time, now seemed justified by their results.

But even so, there were still those who had been captured by slavers in the chaos.

Until this day, Claude's whereabouts remained unknown. The tracking monitor he carried had gone silent after the teleportation event. I tried not to think about what that might mean.

The casualties of this tragedy were beyond counting. The Roa Region had vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but scorched earth and confusion in its wake.

While the world descended into utter chaos, the Kingdom's nobility searched for a scapegoat rather than solutions.

Thus, Sauros Boreas Greyrat became their chosen sacrifice.

He was still missing, though, so they had put the execution on hold until he could be found. Or rather, until we revealed his location to them, since he was currently our "guest."

"UNTIL WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LOCK ME IN HERE?" The bellow came from the adjacent tent, making me wince.

Gods, that old man is noisy. I massaged my temples, feeling the beginning of yet another headache.

"Can you shut up, old man?" I called back, my patience wearing dangerously thin.

"JUST RELEASE ME ALREADY! YOU'RE THINKING BACKWARD! YOU INGRATE!"

I glanced toward the guarded tent where we kept Lord Sauros. Should I just let this pompous noble be executed?

I wondered. It would certainly solve one problem, even if it created others. I mean, could we even save him from being executed in the first place?

Claude had left no clear instructions regarding Sauros's fate beyond "keep him alive," which was proving more difficult by the day.

I didn't understand why Claude thought to save him at all. It wasn't as though he had expressed any particular attachment to the old man or his family.

But Claude's plans often operated on levels I couldn't fully grasp—moves in a game where I could only see a fraction of the board.

A scapegoat was ineffective in addressing the actual disaster, but the Kingdom needed one to maintain the illusion of control. I couldn't deny that political reality.

From what I had learned through Claude's lessons and my own observations, the Boreas branch of the Greyrat family was significantly more honorable than the Notos family.

Not everyone was terrible, Claude had emphasized, though some were worse than others.

I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of decisions I never asked to make.

What kind of trouble had I gotten myself into? The noble world was something I had always avoided.

Counting money was simpler, more straightforward. I had always preferred to stay away from politics and its inevitable complications.

"Just cover his mouth with something," I instructed the guards. "He's too loud, for god's sake."

"MMPH! MMPH!" The muffled protests continued, but at a more tolerable volume.

"If possible, continue your search," I told the scout. "Attempt to retrieve more tracking monitors from our deceased comrades..." The words tasted bitter in my mouth. These weren't just "comrades"—they were friends, employees, people I had traveled with for years.

"Yes, sir!" The scout bowed slightly before departing.

Since when had my merchant group transformed into something resembling ninja operatives? This was Claude's doing—his influence reshaping ordinary merchants and villagers into something more suited to his grand designs.

Claude... you'd better return as soon as possible, I thought grimly. I can't deal with all this shit alone.

The night air carried the scent of campfires and fear. Somewhere in the distance, a child was crying. We had saved many, but would it be enough? Without Claude's guidance, I wasn't sure what our next move should be.

I stared at the maps again, trying to see patterns where perhaps none existed.

[NARRATOR POV]

While others were busy thinking of ways to save their scattered comrades, Rudeus was currently contemplating how to enter the city safely without endangering his small party. The young boy—physically a child but mentally much more—frowned as he considered their options.

"Ruijerd's hair was strikingly hated by others," Rudeus mumbled, glancing at the tall, imposing figure of their Superd companion.

The sunlight gleamed off Ruijerd's distinctive green hair, marking him as clearly as a beacon to any who might fear his kind.

"Sorry," Ruijerd replied, his voice deep and solemn. Though his expression remained stoic, there was genuine regret in his eyes—not for who he was, but for the complications his presence caused.

"Nah, there's nothing to be sorry about," Rudeus assured him. He turned his attention to the red-haired girl who had wandered some distance away. "Eris! Stop playing around. You'll get missed if you're playing too far!"

"I'm not a kid!" Eris snapped back, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "Damn you, Rudeus!"

Rudeus had already attempted using dye on Ruijerd's hair, which had succeeded temporarily, confirming his theory that the hair color itself triggered the curse that caused others to fear and hate the Superd race.

It was the same reaction Eris had displayed during their first meeting—the mere sight of Ruijerd's green hair had terrified her so thoroughly she'd lost control of her bladder.

The notoriety of the Superd from the war four hundred years ago remained alive in cautionary tales and bedtime stories used to frighten children.

Despite Ruijerd's honor and kindness, his race's fearsome reputation preceded him wherever they went.

"Even though Ruijerd is this kind, how could they hate him?" Rudeus wondered aloud, genuinely perplexed by the disconnect.

"Said the one shaking in fear when she found him at first," he added pointedly, glancing at Eris.

"Hmph!" Eris responded by smacking Rudeus soundly on the head before turning away with her nose in the air.

As she scanned their surroundings, her expression shifted to surprise. "Whoa! That's also another way to deal with your curse, huh!"

Rudeus turned to see what had caught her attention. Ruijerd had taken the most direct approach to their problem—he had shaved his head completely, eliminating the distinctive green hair that marked him as Superd.

"...is it alright, Ruijerd?" Rudeus asked, concerned about the warrior's decision to sacrifice such a fundamental part of his identity.

"This is nothing," Ruijerd replied with quiet dignity. "We can easily head out to the city with this, right?"

"Indeed, it'd be easier for us to enter the city and live as adventurers," Rudeus agreed, already calculating their next steps.

"Okay, let's move and go back to Roa!" Eris exclaimed, her enthusiasm bubbling over at the prospect of finally returning home.

"Chill, Eris," Rudeus cautioned, knowing the journey ahead remained long and fraught with dangers.

It had been some time since they had encountered Ruijerd, the Superd warrior who carried an ancestral spear and the weight of his people's bloody history.

Throughout the human territories, the Superd were considered nightmares made flesh—entities feared by people because of their ancestors' actions during the Laplace War centuries ago.

Although Rudeus had heard childhood stories about green-haired demons that feasted on children, he had dismissed them as fairy tales meant to scare youngsters into obedience. However, despite his confidence in his magical abilities, he had quickly realized that he could not survive alone in the Demon Continent's hostile environment.

In a moment of desperation or fate, Rudeus had received a prophetic dream from an entity calling itself Human God, who instructed him to trust the person he would meet upon awakening. Though skeptical of this self-proclaimed god, Rudeus had approached Ruijerd with caution, evaluating the Superd warrior through his own observations rather than blind faith.

Later, after learning of Ruijerd's tragic past and witnessing his honorable character, Rudeus had come to trust him completely. As the last warrior of his decimated race, Ruijerd bore the collective hatred of the world's people—a burden he carried with stoic dignity.

Ruijerd had become both protector and teacher to Rudeus and Eris as they journeyed together. Their mission had evolved to include returning kidnapped children back to the Fittoa region, as many refused to accept help from a Superd out of ingrained fear.

No settlement welcomed them with open arms. They had been barred entry from multiple cities, facing prejudice at every turn. Overcoming these obstacles had taken time and ingenuity, but they had ultimately succeeded where many would have failed.

As they continued their journey, Rudeus's thoughts remained fixated on returning Eris safely to her home. This self-imposed responsibility weighed so heavily on him that it narrowed his perspective, preventing him from considering the broader implications of the teleportation catastrophe.

In the month he had traveled with Ruijerd and Eris, Rudeus had never paused to thoroughly analyze the teleportation incident that had scattered the people of Fittoa across the world. His focus remained on the immediate goal rather than the larger mystery.

The tragedy had left countless casualties throughout the Fittoa Region of the Asura Kingdom. Unknown to Rudeus, others were working to piece together this puzzle from different angles, driven by knowledge he did not possess.

And in a dungeon whose name remained unknown, a man called Claude—a Miko with fractured memories of multiple timelines—fought his own battle against fate, burdened with knowledge that might save them all, if only he could escape to use it.