Chapter IV The Inevitable meet and greet with the Evil Goat

I trudged along a desolate wasteland, nothing but rocks scattered around. The night was brilliantly illuminated, the moon and stars casting their shimmering glow across the expansive sky. After hours of walking, something caught my eye in the distance. Was that a fortress? Or were my tired eyes just playing tricks on me? Squinting to get a clearer view, yes, it was there. As I continued my journey, I walked past rows of barricades that lined the path to the fortress. It must have been a good fifty miles from the imposing main gate. What struck me as peculiar were the intricate runes etched into these barricades, like some kind of magical seal locking something within a fifty-mile radius of the fortress. Whatever unsavory things were lurking inside, those who set up these mystical barriers clearly intended to keep them contained.

Upon reaching the grand façade of this structure, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over me. Had I been here before? The main gate stood as a formidable barrier, flanked by towering structures that radiated an almost ominous presence. I couldn't help but wonder about the mastermind behind the design of this fortress. After taking a few minutes to marvel at this architectural marvel, I phased through the gate as if I were a specter passing through solid matter. Inside the main courtyard, an unsettling sight greeted me—strange creatures roamed about. Undead entities wandered the area, and upon entering the main chamber through the front doors (yes, I simply phased through), I found it swarming with various kinds of demons. Oddly enough, I seemed to effortlessly move through different sections, sometimes jumping or even flying over buildings to explore the area. Being intangible definitely had its perks.

I retraced my steps back through the main chamber and ventured north into the fortress's main corridor. And then, there it was—a sight that nearly blew my mind. Could it be? A dimensional fissure, oozing with powerful magical energies. Where did it lead? I couldn't fathom. Whoever was responsible for this must possess immense supernatural power. It was as if a portal had been opened here, granting access to another realm. After analyzing the situation, I turned around, only to find myself in the majestic halls of Valhalla. Wait a second, that wasn't a mere dream. Had I just astral-projected myself to a familiar place?

"Hey, what's going on?" I spun around to see Valkyrie Nike standing behind me. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, she cut in with an icy tone, "Don't even think about voicing those twisted thoughts of yours." Her frosty glare made it clear that bringing up anything inappropriate was a mistake, and now her eerie smile was giving me the shivers. I couldn't help but wonder what went on inside her head.

"Where was I just now?" I asked the Valkyrie.

"You were at the Lunstadt Fortress. That dimensional fissure you stumbled upon leads to another realm, Vanaheim. A witch named Divina Veil had opened it in the past, only to be defeated by unsung heroes. Now, someone with the same abilities as the witch has reopened the rift between Midgard and Vanaheim." I can't confirm that the Vanirs are involved, but it's your responsibility now to close that portal. Those fissures have been releasing powerful energy surges that have been absorbed by certain demon lords imprisoned in your world. This is also a factor contributing to Surtr's escape from confinement beneath Oasenstadt City."

"I see. How on earth am I supposed to close this magical portal, this dimensional fissure, or whatever it's called?" I inquired of the Valkyrie. Clearly, this was way beyond my expertise. The Valkyrie simply smiled and handed me something. "Is this what I think it is? It's been ages since I've seen one...a Congealed Spell," I remarked as I examined the item carefully.

"Yes, that's right. You need to toss it into the portal to dissolve it and let its magic work."

"Got it, sweet cheeks. Anything else I need to know?" My cheeky comment made her laugh, but she blushed slightly. With her fair complexion and blonde hair, her rosy cheeks only added to her charm.

"I do have one more thing to tell you. Come closer so I can whisper it to you." Her response made my heart race. This was it, right? Was she about to kiss me? Haha! I moved closer to her, closing my eyes in anticipation. Her hands gently touched my face, and she pressed her cheek against mine. Her whispered words tickled my ear. "Wake up, kid."

And just like that, I was jolted awake from my dream. Damn it, I was so sure the Valkyrie was going to make a move. Haha! As I blinked myself back to reality, I noticed something on my bedside table. It was the congealed spell from my dream. I had a vague memory of the Lunstadt Fortress. It used to be a stronghold in the outskirts of the Duchy of Caledonia, near the base of the Gungnir mountain range. Once a fortress of the Coriley Dukes, it was overtaken by Divina Veil, the Witch, who summoned demons that besieged Aigleterre decades ago during Emperor Schwarzhers' reign. Today, the Coriley stronghold has transformed into the City of Altopalo.

I rose from my bed, tucked the item safely into my satchel, and prepared for the day ahead by gathering my gear. After devouring a hearty breakfast, I bid my staff farewell, left my establishment, and mounted my trusty Zandyagow Steed. The journey north was bound to be a lengthy one. Exiting the Cymry Road, I rode through the lands heading northward. Unexpectedly, I came across a band of twelve Orcs near the junction leading to Vornehmruhe. It struck me as odd to encounter them in this region, as they typically resided in the western parts of the Avalon Continent. As I pondered this, five of the Orcs drew their weapons – one wielding a large sword, three brandishing battle axes, and another aiming an arrow at me from a bow.

"I'm not here for trouble, my friends. I'm just passing through. Grant me safe passage, and I'll be on my way." One of the Orcs snorted and gestured to his comrades to stand down. He looked at me, nodding in approval. I reciprocated with a nod, then guided my mount past them, my curiosity about their presence lingering in my mind. As I reached the rocky terrain up north, the image of the fortress came into view on the horizon. Thank the stars I've got this Zandyagow Steed – without it, I'd probably still be on the road. It took me a solid two days to get here, and that's with this trusty mount. If I had to go on foot, it would've been a week-long trek at least. This robust horse is truly a lifesaver on journeys like these.

Once I reached the perimeter I had seen in my dream, I secured my steed to a nearby shaded post and tended to its needs. My own provisions were devoured hastily, and soon enough I was ready to infiltrate the fortress. With my weapons in hand and my ghostly powers focused, a surge of spiritual energy coursed through me. "Here we go," I thought to myself. I bolted through the barricades, racing with the speed granted by my Seven-League Boots. The main barricaded entrance posed no challenge as I phased through the walls – being intangible has its perks, let me tell you. I dashed toward the north section of the fort, where the dimensional fissure was located. However, before I could reach my destination, hordes of undead and demons emerged in front of me, with another swarm at my rear preparing to assail me.

Swiftly unsheathing Gramr, I readied myself to cut through these abominations. The attacks came in swarms, yet they were unable to even graze me due to my ghostly state – a perk of the powers I acquired from dispatching Spukblob. After dealing with the last of them, I sped towards the dimensional fissure, avoiding another wave of demons and undead. This diversion had cost me precious time, and I was determined to put an end to this task once and for all. And there it was, the dimensional fissure oozing with a miasma of dark energy, pervading the room. Extracting the congealed spell from my satchel, I hurled it into the portal, triggering an earthquake. "Damn it, I've got to get out of here," I muttered, bolting through the walls toward the main door before stopping in the courtyard. Something was amiss, and it didn't bode well.

Sheathing Gramr, I projected my astral self through the fortress again – what I witnessed was truly horrifying. The swarms of undead and demons inside the fort were being drawn into the portal. In an unsettling twist, I felt myself being pulled as well. This was bad, very bad. Swiftly returning to my physical body, I realized staying here was futile – I might get sucked into the vortex if I lingered. Darting through the main gate, I sprinted as fast as I could to reach the magical barricade outside the fortress's perimeter. Suddenly, the earthquake ceased. Swiftly untying my Zandyagow Steed, I wasted no time in getting out of there as fast as I could. Whew! I'm relieved that I managed to complete that mission in record time.

I've been journeying across the northern expanse of Avalon once more, crossing the Gungnir mountain range. It's been a solid two days since my mission at the lunstadt fortress. As I reached the northern end of the mountain range, I encountered the entrance to the Labyrinth Woods, also known as the Albion Maze or the Concealed Templar. This forest is shrouded in mystery and renowned for its tricky navigation. Those who successfully navigate through its thick foliage emerge at the base of the mountain on the other side. And, as luck would have it, the Labyrinth Woods is considered a territory under House Snekfjord's jurisdiction.

Just my luck again, it's said that Faunus Ubelziege and his smaller versions – basically his offspring – roam around these parts. So, there I was, stepping into the maze-like woods, pondering my strategy to locate the Concealed Templar, where that goat demon is said to reside. I wound my way through the tangled trees, weighing down aggressive animals with my trusty Artemis Bow. Frankly, this isn't just a stroll in the park; I'm really, truly lost. It reminds me of Duko Malaganso's tale of getting lost in the Jungles of Maharlika thanks to the tricky tikbalang, which led to the namesake of the establishment he sold to me. But enough reminiscing; it's high time I find my way out of this place and uncover the Concealed Templar hidden somewhere in the heart of this forest labyrinth.

After what felt like an eternity, battling and dispatching animals for their pelts and meat – gotta make those travels lucrative, right? – I ran into a pack of Blobs and Fuzzywabeets, with a Blobster and Jackwabeets leading the charge. Essentially, the leaders are just oversized versions of their followers. These pesky creatures launched an attack, but with Gramr unsheathed, I took them down with practiced ease. I managed to collect jackwabeet hides and the prized large jellyich from the blobster – these items fetch a pretty penny in the market and help pad my coffers with drachmae. Stowing my loot in the utility bag strapped to my trusty Zandyagow Steed, I mounted up again and continued my journey through the woods.

Honestly, it's been a good two days of wandering these woods, and to be quite honest, I've lost my bearings. Seriously, I'm considering crunching down a moth dustball – a sort of magical breadcrumb – but that would lead me back to square one, and I don't want to spend weeks here again. Eventually, I came across a fork in the road and paused. I really don't know which path to choose, especially since my provisions are dwindling. Opting for the road on the right, I moved forward swiftly, keen on avoiding any further commotion. After a long ride, I finally arrived at the Concealed Templar. Making sure my mount was secure, hidden amidst the foliage, I embarked on foot across the field toward the temple. As I neared, but still kept my distance, I reached for my bow and pulled out arrows from my quiver. With tension and anticipation mounting, I began to fire shots into the abandoned temple through its windows and doors. My intention was to rouse the demon, to make it come out and face me head-on.

A minute of quietude passed, and then I heard a growl behind me. That wily goat demon was lurking in the trees – I hope it didn't spot me concealing my mount, given all the valuables it held. Faunus Ubelziege, charging toward me with remarkable speed, took me by surprise. I had underestimated just how fast he could move. And then, to my amazement, three Ubelziege Kids scampered after him, brandishing their diminutive sword-axes. It was almost endearing – a perilous situation tinged with cuteness.

With Faunus Ubelziege slashing his sword-ax horizontally, I managed to evade by ducking and backsliding while simultaneously snatching a bag of fine sand. The Ubelziege Kids, displaying enthusiasm and determination, lunged at me with their small weapons. Their attempts were more adorable than threatening. I skillfully executed my tunnel-driven move, slipping through their midst unscathed. But dispatching the old goat, especially with its demonic offspring pestering me, proved quite the challenge. How did those Ubelziege Kids even come about? Were there Ubelziege ladies somewhere in this forest? Haha!

As I executed my tunneldriving maneuver, Faunus Ubelziege struck the ground with his sword-ax, the blade nearly grazing my face. Reacting swiftly, I leaped and performed a somersault backward. In a strategic move, I hurled a handful of fine sand at his face, using my sand attack skill to temporarily blind him. The old goat roared in frustration, momentarily disoriented. Meanwhile, the Ubelziege Kids, once brimming with murderous intent, lost their edge when I efficiently slashed Gramr through their necks, putting an end to their threat. My ghostly abilities weren't always effective against high-level demons – I wasn't about to bet my life on them.

As Faunus Ubelziege witnessed the demise of his offspring, anger surged within him. However, that anger was short-lived as I swiftly flung my Jagdkommando dagger into his open mouth, causing him to choke. Seizing the opportunity, I gracefully closed the distance between us. As he swung his sword-ax horizontally, I instinctively dropped to my knees and slid beneath his legs, evading the deadly blow. Rising swiftly, I leaped and impaled him through his back with my sword. A combination of speed, skill, and determination had brought me to this pivotal moment. He let out a final growl, collapsing to his knees. Swiftly, I extracted my sword and performed a somersault right in front of him. With a mighty swipe, Gramr cleanly severed his head from his body, ending his reign of terror. As the deed was done, I dipped Gramr into the pool of his blood, aiming to transfer the sword-ax-like properties of his weapon into my own. The mystical power flowed into my blade, a fitting reward for vanquishing such a formidable foe.

I gathered his head and the heads of his offspring, placing them within a sturdy sack. His sword-ax, a macabre souvenir of my triumph, I wrapped up for safekeeping. To dispose of the remains, I summoned flames with the help of my alchemist gloves – incredibly convenient tools, I must say. Haha! As the flames consumed the bodies, I ensured that nothing would remain of them.

Once the ashes had cooled, I carefully collected them and sealed them within an empty bottle. My plan was to take them to the Aigleterre sanctuary, where they could be blessed and given a proper send-off. With the grim task completed, I gathered my gear, untethered my trusty mount, and proceeded to consume a moth dustball. The magical sensation whisked me away, depositing me at the eastern gate of Aigleterre, the weight of my recent adventure still heavy on my mind.

As I materialized at the eastern gate, I wasted no time in making my way to the cathedral, where Father Justinian Benedictus awaited my return. His presence brought a sense of calm amidst the chaos I had recently faced. The Ashes, safely stored in a bottle, were held in anticipation of the Sagrada Aguas Spell – a divine ritual that would consecrate them with holy water, purifying them from the taint of evil.

Once the ritual was complete, I embarked on my next journey without delay. My path led me through the verdant landscapes of Eastern Avalon, tracing the coastline. Over the course of a couple of days, I found myself engaged in numerous skirmishes with aggressive creatures that dared to cross my path. Amidst these battles, I encountered a unique entity – a wounded vagrant wolf. Despite its injuries, there was something in its eyes that resonated with me, a glimmer of life that refused to fade.

The decision to spare the wolf from its suffering was instantaneous. Gently, I lifted the wounded creature onto my back, carefully securing it to prevent it from falling. My supply of green herbs proved invaluable as I tended to its wounds, hoping to expedite its recovery.

Upon my arrival at Saint Kerelina Monastery, a sense of serenity enveloped me. The Head Monk, Kimpyoo, greeted me with a mixture of warmth and skepticism, his expression hinting at the depths of his knowledge. With a bottle containing the ashes of Faunus Ubelziege, the demon whose reign I had ended, I presented myself before them. The Valkyrie Nike's message seemed to have preceded me, her words echoing in Kimpyoo's recounting of their interaction.

Yet, a lighthearted exchange quickly ensued, one that laid bare the playful banter shared between Nike and me. The monk's raised eyebrow and knowing words only solidified the connection Nike and I shared, despite my attempts at feigning innocence.

As Kimpyoo turned his attention to his fellow monks and the impending ritual, I inquired about the well-being of the vagrant wolf. With directions in hand, I made my way to the monastery's infirmary, where I encountered Brother Jisemak – a skilled healer, I assumed. The wolf's fate hung in the balance, and my hope was that the monastery's care could restore it to full health.

"Ah, you must be the Tracker that Brother Kimpyoo told me about," Brother Jisemak greeted me, the wolf still a weight upon my back, a symbol of hope and healing amidst the uncertainty that surrounded us.

"Where's the wolf?" Brother Jisemak's voice held a mix of concern and curiosity as he laid eyes on the wounded vagrant wolf. I nodded, confirming that this was indeed the creature that needed healing. "Yeah, this poor fella took quite a beating. I'll put him on the bed here so you can work your magic."

Carefully, I placed the wolf on the bed provided, hoping that Brother Jisemak's skills could alleviate the creature's pain. Yet, as I turned to assess the situation, a sudden glimmer of light caught my attention. Kimpyoo, the Head Monk, had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. His presence signaled that it was time to proceed with the ritual – the culmination of my efforts.

"Brother Rasleigh, it's time," Kimpyoo's voice carried a sense of purpose. His summoning of a spirit ball seemed to set the stage for what was to come. I nodded, ready to follow his lead. "Lead the way," I responded, acknowledging his request. We joined hands, our fingers interlocking, and in an instant, Kimpyoo enacted his body relocation spell, transporting us to the shrine where the ritual was to unfold.

Within the shrine, a sense of sacredness enveloped us. I joined the circle formed around a pentacle, the monks beside me chanting words unfamiliar to my ears. The incantation held a rhythm, a resonance that seemed to transcend the boundaries between our world and the ethereal. Faunus Ubelziege's ashes, placed at the center of the pentacle, responded to the energy generated by the monks' collective efforts. They swirled and danced in response to the mesmerizing cadence.

The monks' hands, firmly grasping mine, created a circuit of energy. My very essence, my chakra or mana as they called it, seemed to flow outward and then return, as if in harmony with the chant. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the intensity building with each passing moment. Faunus Ubelziege's ashes glowed with an otherworldly brilliance, their transformation underway.

And then, as if a crescendo had been reached, the ashes ignited in a brilliant blaze. The light was so blinding that I had to shield my eyes for a moment. As the radiance subsided, the ashes were no more. Kimpyoo's gratitude resonated in his words. "Thank you, Brother Rasleigh. With the incarnation of the demon gone from the Concealed Templar, Faunus Ubelziege will never have a chance to resurrect."

With the ritual's conclusion, a sense of closure settled within me. I lingered at the monastery for another day, tending to both my own recovery and the vagrant wolf's healing process. Amidst the tranquility of the monastery, I found a moment of respite before my next venture.

Once I had rested up and said my goodbyes to the monks of Saint Kerelina Monastery, I set out on my Zandyagow Steed, my loyal companion, with the vagrant wolf at my side. It seemed the wolf, now aptly named Bulljack, had taken a liking to my company and decided to join me on my travels. I guess he's up for some adventures alongside me, or maybe he just appreciates the free meals. Who knows, right? I'd talk to him and he'd respond with gruff growls that I took as some sort of acknowledgement. Well, at least we had some form of communication going on. Haha!

By the way, let me tell you a bit about monks. They're not your typical holy folks you'd find in a church. These guys are more like a blend of spiritual warriors and righteous brawlers. Monks, you see, have mastered the art of using both Holy Magic and their own fists to dish out justice. They're kind of like the vigilantes of the divine, taking matters into their own hands instead of relying solely on weapons or traditional holy spells.

But here's the kicker: these monks decided to leave the formal church structure in order to bring their unique brand of divine retribution to the world. Instead of swords and magic staffs, monks rely on their own bodies and spiritual energy to protect the innocent and face down evil. They're not your average fighters, though. They've got this incredible skill to channel their energy into their fists, delivering blows that pack a punch as potent as their Holy Magic.

But there's more to it than just punching bad guys. Monks have their own journey of self-discovery. They realize that there's more to their power than brute strength and flashy punches. There's a deeper connection between their body and spirit that needs to be harmonized. That's where the rigorous training and intense dedication come in. Through this process, a Monk evolves into a Sifu – a master of body and spirit, a true embodiment of their potential.

So, as Bulljack and I continued our journey together, I couldn't help but ponder the similarities between my path and that of the monks. We were all on a quest to find that balance between our strengths and our deeper selves, in a world where magic, strength, and purpose intertwined. You know, some of those advanced Sifus, the high-ranking Monk masters, decided to break away from the conventional order and embraced the path of the Asuras. It's quite an interesting twist, really. When Surtr, the fiery menace, made his comeback, some Monks didn't just stand by. Instead, they took their own path and dedicated themselves to enhancing their physical might even further. The thing is, this move wasn't exactly met with applause. In fact, people called them "God's Traitors" or "Power Mongers," and let's just say they didn't get any gold stars for their decisions. But you know what? These Asuras, as they called themselves, didn't flinch in the face of judgment. They didn't offer excuses or justifications. They simply carried on with their relentless training.

Now, let's get into the nitty-gritty of what sets Asuras apart. While regular Monks are all about one-on-one close combat, Asuras have their own style. They're all about rapid-fire punch-kick combos and skills that let them take on multiple targets simultaneously. They're like the fast-food version of martial arts – quick and effective. But here's where it gets a bit intense: if you want to crank up the power dial even more, you need to toss aside some of that human baggage and embrace your inner ghost. Yeah, you heard me right. To be an Asura, you kind of have to shed your human skin, metaphorically speaking. It's like becoming a living weapon, shedding all notions of mercy for your enemies. The idea is to evolve into this absolute, relentless warrior who'll stop at nothing.

And hey, if you ever cross paths with an Asura on the battlefield, consider yourself warned. The last thing you'll be seeing is the express train to the afterlife, my friend. But here's the twist in this tale: when the Asuras came back to fight those monstrous horrors from Neueweltz, people started to change their tune. Suddenly, their strength was undeniable. Even the skeptics had to give them props. The Monks, who had initially raised eyebrows at their path, began to see the value in what the Asuras had achieved. It was like a change of heart, a realization that sometimes you need to forge your own path to make a real impact.

And guess what? The Asuras, they didn't let it go to their heads. They kept their noses to the grindstone, training day and night, showing everyone that their newfound power wasn't something to boast about. They used their strength for the greater good, proving that their hearts were in the right place. Over time, perceptions shifted. The once-dismissed Asuras were now revered as the "Gods of War." So, there you have it, the tale of how a bunch of renegade Monks transformed into legendary, formidable fighters that people looked up to. And that's a wrap for my journey. Now, I know you probably weren't too keen on hearing me blabber about my escapades in eastern Avalon, taking down Blobs, Fettwurms, and Fuzzywabeets left and right. I mean, who wants to listen to tales of me chowing down on a sidewinder snake like it's a snack, roasting a mammoth-sized mantis for dinner, and well, let's not even mention the creative ways I found to quench my thirst. Trust me, those are the kinds of stories that Sasquatch Bryles loves to spin over a pint or two at my tavern. You know, he's got a knack for weaving those wild tales that both amaze and leave you scratching your head in disbelief. But hey, I figured you might enjoy some history and legends instead. So, no need to bore you with my more outrageous escapades. Haha!

Ah, back in Aigleterre, and let me tell you, it feels like slipping into your favorite pair of old boots. The moon was casting its glow when I finally strolled into the Drunk Tikbalang Inn after a solid two days on the road. You'd think walking in with a wolf buddy like Bull Jack might turn a few heads, but nah, Fuzzy Jack's got his back, treating him to some meaty delights in the corner while gnawing on a bone Rorry had passed his way. I swear, it's like another member joined our peculiar tavern family.

Now, picture this: my staff, the regulars, and even the newcomers all had this look of sheer surprise mixed with a hint of terror as I waltzed in with my collection. You see, there were the heads of those Ubelziege Kids that I'd pinned to the wall like some morbid art installation, and then, hanging above the fireplace, Faunus Ubelziege's majestic horn. It's one hell of a decor upgrade, if you ask me.

Paulette, ever the outspoken one, couldn't help herself, blurting out, "What in the eyes of Odin is that creature!?" Oh, that? Just the horn of the mighty Faunus Ubelziege, no biggie. I mean, I know it's quite the sight, but come on, it's like a conversation starter, right?

Rorry Lolita chimed in with her usual deadpan humor, "So that sword-ax, let me guess, it's worth a cool million drachma on the market?" She's got a point, those things don't exactly come cheap. And yeah, the sword-ax is something else. But hey, I ain't about to sell it. That bad boy's getting a cozy spot in my armory, along with my personal collection of weapons I've been stockpiling over the years.

Rorry, being Rorry, had another question up her sleeve, "You've got a treasure horde? Right here?" I swear, the way she looked at me, you'd think I'd just sprouted another head. "You bet your last drachma. And let me tell you, those treasures aren't exactly easy to nab. It's got my magical locks guarding it, so any wannabe thieves might just find themselves in Niflheim instead of making off with my loot." Man, the terror in her eyes was just priceless. But hey, you gotta keep things interesting, right?

Alright, gather 'round, folks, 'cause I've got a tale from my wilder days to spin. Back when I was a spry young thing, I had my stint as a Gangster. But don't go thinking it's all dark alleys and shady dealings – we've come a long way since then. Let me give you a peek into the life of us Gangsters and how we've evolved into the Alsahran Gangland Syndicate.

Picture this: quick-witted and sly, we were experts at getting our hands on things that didn't belong to us. The name Gangster sort of just fit, you know? Anyone who'd ever danced with the law a bit was basically dubbed a criminal, and that's how we got the title. As more of us entered the scene, we needed someone to call the shots, and boom, the Alsahran Gangland Syndicate was born.

Now, before you start imagining heists and taking from the vulnerable, let me set the record straight. Our guild had some rules, and messing with the weak was a big no-no. Stealing and killing from the innocent? Not our style. And let me tell you, if anyone dared break those rules, our leader had some unique ways of dishing out justice that'd make your hair stand on end.

Sure, we weren't exactly known for brute strength, but we had agility and speed on our side. When you're in the heat of battle, those quick moves can save your skin. But here's the thing – once you pick the path of a Gangster, earning back society's respect isn't exactly a walk in the park. We kind of let go of the whole "civilized society" idea.

We used to have some not-so-noble hobbies, like swiping psychedelic mushrooms from Sheey Lou's farm. Oh, the good old days, right? But truth be told, even that shifty pastime has taken a back seat lately. See, when you've got some experience under your belt, a lot of Gangsters move on to bigger things. Some join the Brethren of Slayers or the Rogue Mafia for more excitement.

Me? Well, after a solid three years of training, outsmarting, and maybe a touch of procrastination – can't deny it, right? – I found myself knocking on the doors of the Rogue Mafia. But that's a whole different chapter of my story, my friends. So, stick around if you're curious about how the Gangster in me transformed into the Rogue I am today. Alright, gather 'round, 'cause I'm about to spill the beans on the Rogue Mafia – a group that takes advanced delinquency to a whole new level. We Rogues, as we're called, are like the desert's worst nightmare, armed with slick tricks and a hunger for whatever we fancy. We're not satisfied with just nicking stuff; we'll have our targets questioning their life choices down to their skivvies if needed. And let me tell you, we're not afraid of a little artistic vandalism either. We're swift, we're skilled, and we're the top dogs among gangsters.

We've got some fancy tricks up our sleeves, thanks to intense training and some special moves that set us apart. We're not bound by rules or societal norms – we're the wild cards, moving through the land as we please. We're all about self-improvement, even if that means borrowing a technique or two from someone else. Heck, we've been known to strip armor and weapons off our enemies if the situation calls for it. Rules of combat? Not really our thing. You might find former Rogue Mafia members shifting gears to become Trackers, and some even make their way up to Phantom Trackers. Oh, and let's not forget about the organization I was once part of, known as the Murder of Crows – now renamed the Avalon Imperial Intelligence Agency. It's a mix of folks from the Brethren of Slayers and the Rogue Mafia, along with Scout Rangers who handle the covert operations.

Now, let me introduce you to the life of a Tracker. Espionage and sabotage are our bread and butter. If you're on the run from a Tracker, just accept your fate; we're masters at lurking in the shadows. We excel at spying, sabotage, tailing, and hunting down our targets. You won't even realize we're after you unless we want you to, and let me tell you, toying with your mind from the shadows? Yeah, we live for that rush.

Trying to catch a Tracker? Ha, good luck with that. You're better off waving the white flag, because we've got tricks you wouldn't even believe. Now, to keep up with the big shots like the Mage Barons and the Chivalric Order of Avalon, us Rogue Mafia elites stumbled upon a secret weapon: art. Yep, painting turned out to be the way to tap into the power we sought. We dove into the world of psychological warfare, using visual and magical tricks to mess with our enemies' heads. Deception, disguise – that's what earned us our elite status and the nickname Phantom Trackers. So, remember, if you ever cross paths with a Rogue or Tracker, be prepared for a game where we set the rules. Okay, listen up, because things got pretty wild when the Neueweltz suddenly showed up via the Dimensional Rift. It was like stirring up a hornet's nest on the entire continent. The allure of an uncharted civilization was like a shot of adrenaline for everyone hungry for more power. This craze birthed some seriously exclusive gigs in the guilds, you know, like the big leagues – Mage Barons and Warlocks were in on the action too. And guess what? Our Rogue Mafia crew was also itching to level up and get in on this action.

Sure, we're all about honing our muscles to Hulk-like proportions, but sometimes we opt to flex our brains instead of our biceps. We realized our brainpower was just as deadly as our brute strength, and so we dived into a bit of research. We wanted to outsmart our foes and bring the Mage Barons down a notch. They were all into Rune Magic to beef up their powers, so we needed to counter that. Instead of exploiting their weak spots like some of our buddies, we decided to hit them where it hurts – their minds.

We rolled up our sleeves and started cooking up some combat strategies with a twist. Our focus? Psychological warfare, baby. Especially against those Mage Barons who thought they were so hot. But instead of brawn, we put our gray matter to work. Our endgame? Hitting those untouched ancient sites in the other world to find the treasure troves that'd boost our strength.

Here's where it gets interesting. Picture this: three Tracker whizzes who were experts in archaeology, geometry, math, and setting up traps hit the jackpot. They stumbled upon mind-boggling murals and paintings in an ancient dig. And that's when it hit them – painting, visual art, that kind of stuff was the golden ticket to the power we were chasing. Those images, those illusions, they have this crazy impact on the subconscious. They mess with emotions and stir up feelings like nobody's business. Creepy paintings? They'll make your hair stand on end. Serene landscapes? You'll be bathing in tranquility. So, you see, it's not just about brute strength; we're also the crafty artists of intimidation and manipulation. Oh man, things took a crazy turn when these three super-smart Trackers tapped into their artistic sides. They had this wild idea – what if they could mess with enemies' minds using illusions? So, they put their heads together and cooked up some wicked ways to induce instant psychological reactions and basically confuse the heck out of their foes. But they didn't stop there, oh no. They teamed up with some friendly Magicians and smarty-pants Professors from the Magic Tower. Together, they sprinkled some magic dust on their artwork to supercharge the illusion spells. It's like taking your favorite dish and adding extra seasoning – in this case, magic seasoning!

And guess what these crafty Trackers started calling themselves? The Phantom Trackers. It's like they're straight out of a fantasy movie, right? They weren't just content with simple illusions; they were all about inflicting psychological whiplash on enemies. These guys cooked up all sorts of tricks, using their artistic and magical talents to mess with heads. They weren't just bluffing; they got really good at this stuff.

But here's the cool part – they didn't keep their newfound skills to themselves. They saw the potential and started teaching some hand-picked Trackers in our gang. And guess what? The Phantom Tracker group was born, like officially. These guys are like the Einstein-level brains of the Rogue Mafia. They've got the power to use their illusions to scramble enemies' brains and turn any combat situation into a topsy-turvy mess. It's like having your own personal magical art show right in the middle of a battle – mind-bending stuff!

"Boss, that's a pretty cool tale you got there," Rorry Lolita chimed in, catching me off guard. "Wait, seriously? How long have you been standing here?" I asked, kind of surprised that she had been eavesdropping on my storytelling session. "Oh, for about an hour, I guess. Your story sounded interesting, even though I have no clue who you're telling it to. But hey, I enjoyed listening to your life's adventures!" she grinned. "Well, I'm glad you found it entertaining," I replied. "Thanks for being my unexpected audience." "No problem, boss. Now, I've got some customers to attend to. Catch you later!" Rorry waved and disappeared into the bustling crowd of the tavern.

With a sigh, I decided to head upstairs to my room. It's locked up tight with some nifty magical security features I picked up from my friends over in Londinium. Safely stashing the impressive sword-ax in my armory, I made my way back downstairs to grab a bite to eat. I had managed to bag some meat during my hunt through the Labyrinth Woods, and Old Man Jenkins had cooked up a delicious stew and soup with it. I took a seat by the window, letting the warmth of the tavern and the delicious aromas wrap around me as I tucked into my meal. The sunset painted the sky with warm hues as I enjoyed my martin soup and a hunk of bread.

As I ate, I couldn't help but think about all the crazy things I'd been up to lately. It felt like I'd been through a whirlwind of adventures these past few months. All I really wished for now was a little break – you know, some chill time without being dragged into tasks by beautiful maidens in my dreams. I chuckled to myself at the thought, leaning back and gazing out the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon.