There once seemed to be something called the Sun.
The legends describe it as white flames that emitted a dazzling light, with the sky a clear and boundless blue.
But for as long as Riku could remember, the world had been consumed by war. Endless conflict between the races—each struggling to annihilate the other—had reduced the earth to charred wastelands and smothered the sky beneath layers of ash.
The ashes clashed with the star power flowing through the heavens, causing the Spirit Corridor to glow and stain the sky a deep crimson.
That crimson hue blanketed every patch of land where the killing raged on.
Perhaps it was not the light of battle at all, but the very wailing and blood of the planet itself.
From the blood-red sky, black ash laced with faint blue light rained like snow, further compressing humanity's already fragile living space.
It was said the ash was the remains of a dying planet—a corpse drifting in the atmosphere. And that corpse was poison to life. To humans—no, to most creatures unable to connect with the Spirit Corridor—it was deadly.
This was a cruel world. For humans, born powerless, fate itself was a luxury far beyond reach. Controlling it was impossible.
Could one rely on luck to survive?
No. Humanity endured only by will. They knew survival was nearly hopeless, yet still made ruthless choices for the group's sake—sacrificing anything, even themselves, if it meant the tribe might continue, however narrowly.
"Ivan, has the gray-black ash invaded your head?"
Riku was roused by his companion's whispered voice.
The man named Ivan shook his head with a wry smile. "I'm getting old, that's all. Just wanted to rest for a moment. And—"
He paused, then looked at the young man before him—the leader of their tribe. "Riku, have you heard the rumors?"
"A mysterious race claiming to be human, appearing across the world and vanishing just as quickly?" The white-haired youth in goggles answered without expression. "Thanks to them, our situation has worsened. Now, some races have begun to take an interest in humanity."
It was not good news.
The world's races were clearly divided into fifteen, ranked from the Old Deus at the summit down through the rest. These fifteen waged endless war, grinding the land into silence and ruin.
Humans, however, were the exception.
That's right—humans were not participants in the war, merely collateral damage.
Compared to the fifteen races, humanity was not even recognized as a race. In the eyes of others, they were nothing more than talking beasts.
Weak, unable to connect to the Spirit Corridor, and fragile enough to be crushed like ants, humans had no place except as victims of war.
It was a miracle they had survived this long without extinction.
Or so the other races must have thought.
Because humans were so insignificant—so negligible—they were ignored. Even if they were hunted, eaten, or obliterated in the crossfire, it mattered as little as stepping on a pebble. So long as they remained silent, they might continue existing on the roadside of history.
But now, a group had appeared. They rivaled the higher races, wreaked havoc across the world, and called themselves human.
In just a few days, countless human villages had received strange visitors—and been baptized in fire.
To Riku, the conclusion was obvious. Those mysterious figures calling themselves humans sought mankind's extinction. If not their ultimate aim, then surely a necessity on the path toward it.
Otherwise, why would powerful beings choose to disguise themselves as humanity—creatures regarded as little more than animals?
"I just wonder if those beings are really human," Ivan murmured. "Maybe they uncovered some goblin technology and used it to grow stronger. If only we had that kind of power—"
"Enough, Ivan. Humans cannot control magic. That is an iron rule." Riku's reply was sharp, final.
Creatures like that could not possibly be human.
Not wishing to continue the topic, Riku waved his hand, signaling the end of their rest.
Together with Ivan and Yalei, he resumed the march toward their destination.
As they drew closer, the outline of a massive steel vessel came into view—
A weapon of the Dwarves. The wreck of an aerial battleship.
Even in ruins, its systems shattered, any scrap of information, food, or tools salvaged from within would mean salvation for humans. Any resource at all was a blessing.
But at that moment—
"Riku! The Spirit Needle Plate!" Ivan suddenly seized his arm.
"What—?!"
The stronger races of this world wielded the energy known as "magic."
The Spirit Needle Plate was a crude but vital tool: pyroxene that could sense intense spirit reactions fused with common obsidian.
It detected the presence of powerful spirits within living beings, pointing out both direction and distance. In other words, it tracked enemies. For frail humanity, it was indispensable, sparing them countless brushes with death.
Yet today's plan had been carefully calculated. No war-bound races were expected anywhere near this battlefield. To others, a wrecked battleship held no value—or so they believed.
By every measure, this journey carried risk, but only the smallest measure of it.
Until now. Before they had even reached the wreckage, something unexpected approached.
A presence. A strong one.
Riku snatched the Spirit Needle Plate, gauging the intruder's race by the speed of its spin and the tremors in the ground. If he read it correctly, they might yet escape.
His eyes widened. The pointer whirled madly.
Judging by the needle, the vibrations, and the clues his five senses strained to grasp, there was only one possibility.
A superior race. Eliminating the giantkin, the dragon spirits, and the legendary phantasmal species left only one answer: the sixth race in the hierarchy—the Flügel.
The Flügel, here? Without warning?
It didn't matter why. For humans, there was no resisting them.
Even if discovered, decoys would fail. Against their speed, and in this exposed wasteland, escape was impossible.
Could they only pray for luck?
Damn it!
Riku clenched his fists, issuing an order he knew was futile. "Dig a hole—big enough for one person! Now!"
The words had scarcely left his lips when the earth before him split apart, torn into a canyon by impact.
A Werebeast had struck—hurtling toward Riku with speed that mocked the laws of nature.
-End Chapter-
Visit the Patreon!!
Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!
[email protected]/TrashProspector