Alengard's steady gaze was filled with astonishment at the sudden question. He replied with a calm tone and an unchanged expression, "What made you say that?!"
The best response is to question the questioner.
He used this approach solely to catch him off guard—simply saying "no" would have been suspicious in such a situation.
"So you're not? Sorry. I saw you using the power of Rarities, so I assumed you were one of the infiltrating intruders who slipped into the city. After all, it's not every day you see a Rarity."
A rarity… that's what they call people like me in this world. "You're right."
"Then excuse me." The old man turned away, his hands clasped behind his back, and began to leave.
"Excuse me—may I ask you for a favor?"
The old man stopped without turning around, casting only a sideways glance. Alengard added, "I need help with lodging. I have nowhere to go."
"I'm sorry. I can't help you. If you weren't a Rarity, I might have considered it—but you're not normal." He walked away, adding, "But thank you for the help."
I knew this would happen from the beginning.
This world referred to people like Alengard as Rarities—a human class that possessed superhuman power.
They are respected from afar.
They are feared up close.
And it is preferable that they not be integrated.
The name "Rarities" was given to them by society in a colloquial, commonly used way, until it became the officially recognized name for this special class of humans, who, in the eyes of society, resemble a mixture of human form and something else.
This honorific is a hybrid, born from the womb of multiple emotions, felt and experienced by society toward this human category.
They did not see them as complete human beings, but rather as rare objects.
In general, they were feared by society.
They were not treated as enemies, as they were a force of the Unified Kingdom and part of its people.
Even so, they were regarded with awe, reverence, and fear.
Most people kept their distance and avoided deep interaction with them, as their numbers did not exceed one percent of the original, ordinary population.
They were seen as individuals who had acquired something unnatural.
And despite the fact that they defended the people day and night, the human psyche naturally recoils from what it does not possess and cannot understand.
The Rarities possessed what made them abnormal in the eyes of society—an exceptional power not held by ordinary people.
As a result, they were often viewed with caution, fear, or suspicion.
This negative sentiment was further reinforced by the fact that the Intruders possessed the same power.
Rarities were divided into two categories: natives of this world, and intruders from beyond it.
The old man's reaction was merely one among many.
He left him behind and walked away.
He arrived at the Adventurers' Guild in Grellian Square, where two massive pillars stood at the center between two water basins whose fountains poured into each other, forming two beautifully intersecting arches.
The guild was enormous, spanning the entire width of the square among the surrounding commercial buildings. At its center was a staircase leading to the gate, from which adventurers of all kinds emerged, wearing various outfits and armor, from elegant to simple.
Regas had never summoned the courage to step foot into the Adventurers' Guild before his death. His past was scarred by bullying, and the Guild… well, it was a place reserved for the capable, the strong, and of course, those who had mastered rare and extraordinary skills. Not that the Guild was entirely exclusive—ordinary people existed too, forming teams that became collective forces.
But the truth was harsh. The Guild was created for missions that stretched far beyond the borders of the United Kingdom, into the mysterious and dangerous external world—a world lying beyond the kingdom that sat at the heart of the continent.
In such a place, death was always an option. Every year, nearly five thousand adventurers perished across all the Guilds scattered throughout the United Kingdom. And with a population of around 600 million, most of the people loathed these Guilds, resentful of those who dared to gamble their lives for glory.
But for adventurers, the challenge of the world beyond the kingdom's borders is not merely about earning a living; it is about experiencing an exciting life full of dangers.
After all, the creed of adventurers is freedom in the unknown.
There was no requirement for an adventurer to come from a strong social background, nor to be a graduate of the Academy of Rarities
What set the Adventurers' Guild apart was its promise of equal opportunity for anyone daring enough to join—a path filled with the unexpected, teetering between life and death.
It was nothing like the National Guild, an official national institution bound by countless protective laws designed to safeguard the true national defense of the United Kingdom against Intruders.
When an adventurer joined the Adventurers' Guild, they signed a Certificate of Self-Independence.
Every consequence, every danger, every triumph—they were theirs alone.
The Guild bore no responsibility, and the only certainty was that life and death danced side by side at every step.
Upon entering, he paused to take in the vast inner hall, a space marked by exquisite elegance.
There was a second floor above them.
While three massive chandeliers bathed every corner in a radiant golden light. Sunrays streamed through the openings in the dome, adding a natural glow to the scene.
The tables, fixed to the floor, were scattered throughout the hall, and voices rose amid random conversations, with some adventurers casting curious glances at him as a new face in this place.
He did not linger. Alengard quickly made his way toward the long desk that separated the hall, where the adventurers were, from five hostesses.
Behind them stood large, luxurious shelves forming corridors, filled with hostesses arranging files and documents on ladder-like chairs.
While the other four were busy with other adventurers, he walked toward the far-left hostess.
She looked up; appearing middle-aged, with short purple hair and a gentle smile.
"How can I assist you?" she asked, her tone warm and welcoming.
"I'm new to this place and would like to join."
"Join! Yes, your national ID, please."
He retrieved the national ID he had taken from Regas' corpse after burying him.
"Here it is."
She pulled out a massive registration log, ready to record his personal information.
As she carefully examined his national ID card, Alengard noticed her expression shift—from calm to sheer astonishment, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"Regas Van!"
"Yes… is there a problem?"
"Are you one of the D-class hunters who participated in the International Guild's experimental mission?"
He understood immediately what she meant and nodded: "Yes."
"Give me a moment… I'll be right back." She snatched his ID card and hurried away.
Whispers began to rise behind him.
"This is him!"
"Didn't he die with them?!"
"They say all thousand hunters perished."
"Then, why is he alive?!"
After hearing all of this, he remained standing exactly as he was; he did not turn around or shift his gaze. He kept staring straight ahead until the stewardess returned a few seconds later—no more than a minute—accompanied by a man in formal gray attire. The man, with black hair streaked with gray at the temples and in his fifties, looked Alengard over carefully before asking him, "Could you accompany us to the main room, please?"
Alengard looked behind him, and after seeing most eyes fixed on him, he looked back at the man and said, "I have no choice."
In the main room, he sat alone on one of two sofas, with a table and a desk nearby. The room was refined, clearly a private chamber belonging to the head of the Adventurers' Guild.
I don't know whether coming here was a good step, but they would have discovered me sooner or later. Still, let us see how we can get out of this situation.
It wasn't as though he had expected them to discover him in this manner. The truth was that the original owner of the body, "Regas," was dead, and Alengard's assumption of his form was a risky move—yet an unavoidable one.
But, what reassured him, however, was that he had buried him far away, in a remote place among the corpses of hunters in that vast, barren land, where the thought would never occur to any living creature.
The director, who had asked him to come to the room, entered, followed by two men wearing identical formal uniforms. They wore similar white coats and black masks concealing their faces, marked with the numbers 655 and 656.
The two men sat on the sofa directly in front of him.
The director then sat on the sofa facing him and said, "Sorry for the disturbance, but you are listed among those recorded as deceased in the Skars Land incident, and your appearance at our guild made it necessary to call in investigators from the Royal Gendarmerie."
"That will be enough, Mr. Rance. Let us do our job," said the masked investigator bearing the number 655 on the front of his mask.
He added, after taking out his identification card, which bore the emblem of the Royal Gendarmerie, "You are dealing with investigators from the Royal Gendarmerie, and since you were dispatched on the mission with the nine hundred hunters during the International Guild's trial examination in Heart City, you already have an idea of what our investigation is about… Mr. Regas Van."
"I believe so…"