My hands clawed at the earth, nails digging deep into the mud. I wanted to vomit it all out. I wanted to scream for the noise to stop. But my jaw was locked.

  Tears streamed down my face—uncontrollable, yet unaccompanied by sobs. Just a silent flow of saltwater burning my cheeks. My body trembled violently, reacting to a grief that wasn't mine, simply because it found no grief of my own to counter it.

  The Alpha had died in peace.

  But it had bequeathed its hell to me.

  I lay on the wet earth, letting the rain wash away these shameful tears.

  "It hurts..." I whispered hoarsely.

  Finally. Pain. Even if it wasn't mine.

  Rented House, City of the Sun's Son.

  I didn't return to the inn. That place was too cramped to contain the echoing screams I had just absorbed.

  I rented an old house on the outskirts of the city. Large, empty, and cold. Perfect for me.

  The house was too big. My footsteps echoed, bouncing off the bare walls, mocking my solitude.

  I sat in the lounge chair. On the table, the glass jar gleamed under the moonlight.

  Coffee grounds.

  The only thing in this room that didn't reek of blood or money.

  I brewed a cup, my hands still trembling slightly from the emotional resonance of the Alpha Wolf.

  Sip.

  It was bitter, but warm. Like a distant embrace.

  Sip.

  In that village, time might have stood still. But here, time was eating away at me.

  I stared at the jar; its contents were beginning to dwindle.

  It wasn't just coffee. It was an hourglass.

  "If this runs out... I have to go back."

  Not because I wanted to. But because I was terrified that if this coffee ran out, whatever was left of my "humanity" would vanish with it.

  I closed my eyes. I let the exhaustion take over, hoping that when I opened them again, I would no longer smell blood and rain, but the scent of old books and forest flowers.

  The Elven Village, The Library.

  The late afternoon breeze blew gently, turning the pages of an open book on the wooden desk.

  Elyra wasn't reading.

  She sat in silence, gazing out the large window that faced the eternal forest. In front of her, two cups of milk coffee sat steaming.

  She opened her beautiful eyes. Her golden pupils stared at the unclaimed second cup across the table.

  "I did it again..." she whispered, her voice as soft as rustling leaves.

  She offered a bitter smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. Habit was a terrifying thing; it carved marks deeper than magic ever could.

  Elyra stood, her steps unhurried, and walked to the bookshelf in the corner.

  There, neatly folded, lay a white dress shirt. A shirt from another world.

  She placed her hand over the fabric. A faint scent still lingered—tobacco, rain, and something uniquely masculine.

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  Cold.

  This village was always kept warm by nature's magic, but for some reason, her fingertips felt frozen this morning.

  She put it on.

  The shirt swallowed her slender frame. The shoulders slouched, the sleeves drooping past her delicate fingers.

  She sat back down. She hugged herself with those loose sleeves, trying to capture the lingering remnants of a presence that was no longer there.

  She took a sip of her coffee.

  "Your coffee grounds must be running low by now, Azisa..."

  "Are you doing all right out there, Azisa?" she asked the empty air, as if her elven instincts could catch the distant vibrations of a soul.

  "Come back when you are tired. Your coffee grounds... and I... are still waiting here."

  For an Elf, time was a tranquil river. But for Elyra, ever since that human's departure, time felt like water dropping from a faucet, one bead at a time. Slow. And agonizingly expectant.

  CHAPTER 9.5 – ROUTINE OF THE VOID

  Time doesn't heal anything. Time merely piles dust over the wound, camouflaging it until you forget it was ever there.

  Two months had passed since the rain in the Weeping Forest stopped washing over my face.

  Routine had taken over once more.

  Wake up. Brew coffee. Smoke. Kill. Get paid. Sleep. Repeat.

  This house was large. Solid stone walls, cold marble floors, and a backyard spacious enough for sword practice.

  I was no longer renting it. I bought it last week. In cash.

  The previous owner, a bankrupt merchant, had nearly kissed my feet when he saw the stack of gold coins.

  Now, this house was mine. A permanent shelter in a foreign city.

  But somehow, owning it felt infinitely lonelier than simply renting it.

  I pulled on a pair of thick, black leather gloves.

  This wasn't a fashion choice. It was an insulator.

  My hands were far too hungry. In the past, energy still took time to absorb, but now, if I touched a crystal with my bare skin, it would instantly turn into an empty piece of glass.

  I grabbed my bag.

  Time for work.

  The Steel Spider's Lair.

  The cave walls were plastered with webs as thick as steel wires. Sticky and razor-sharp.

  In the center of the chamber, the Armored Arachnid waited. A creature the size of a carriage, encased in an organic metal shell.

  Ordinary hunters would attack it with fire magic or greatswords, trying to brute-force their way through those tough defenses. Or they would obliterate everything, ruining the valuable materials in the process.

  Fools.

  I stood motionless at the entrance, lighting a cigarette.

  The monster hissed, its eight legs skittering rapidly, ready to pounce.

  "Haa..." I exhaled a puff of smoke.

  I pulled on a thin string I had rigged along the entrance tunnel beforehand. High-grade dungeon spider silk, bought from a store.

  The monster lunged.

  I didn't move.

  It sailed through the empty air, landing squarely on the exact pivot point I had calculated.

  I yanked the master knot.

  SNAP.

  The stalactites on the ceiling gave way. Gravity did the rest.

  A two-ton boulder crashed down onto the spider's back, pinning its legs but leaving its highly valuable abdomen completely intact.

  CRACK!

  The monster thrashed, hopelessly pinned down.

  I strolled closer at a leisurely pace.

  Drawing my spear, I aimed for the gap between its head and thorax.

  SHLUCK.

  A single precision strike. Instant death.

  Now, for the moneymaker.

  I pulled out a scalpel.

  The silk glands.

  I dissected its abdomen with surgical care. Steel spider silk was the base material for the clothes I wore. It fetched a hefty price. I spooled it up and stored it away.

  And the crystal.

  I reached inside the hollowed-out chest cavity, extracting the pulsating purple gem.

  I didn't touch it directly; my gloves shielded me.

  Drop.

  Everything went into the Dimensional Bag.

  Nothing was wasted. Total efficiency.

  The Adventurer's Guild.

  "Mister Scorpion..."

  The receptionist beamed the moment she saw me. It was the kind of smile reserved for priority clients.

  I dropped the sack onto the counter. It was filled with crystals and spools of steel silk.

  "Count it."

  A hush fell over the Guild. The other adventurers stared at my back with reverence and awe.

  "Look, it's him... Scorpion."

  "Did he just sell materials from the Spider Dungeon? Solo?"

  "That guy... he turned hunting into a money-printing factory."

  I couldn't care less about their whispers.

  "Today's total exchange... S-Rank materials and twenty pure crystals..." The receptionist swallowed hard, calculating rapidly. "Forty gold coins, sir."

  I accepted the heavy pouch.

  I didn't bother counting it. I just tossed it into my Dimensional Bag, where it joined the hundreds of other gold coins piling up inside. A mountain of gold with nowhere to be spent.

  I walked over to the quest board.

  Empty.

  Not the board itself, but my interest in it.

  Everything felt repetitive. The exact same pattern. Kill, loot, sell.

  "Is there anything new?" I asked flatly.

  "I'm sorry, sir. No new dungeons have opened up yet."

  I walked out of the Guild.

  The sun beat down fiercely on the City of the Sun's Son. The orderliness of this city was starting to feel suffocating.

  I was rich. I was strong. I owned property.

  What now?

  Scorpion's Private Residence. Nighttime.

  The house was dead quiet. The chirping of crickets in the backyard echoed clearly.

  I sat in my lounge chair facing the large window, staring out at the empty garden—the only hobby that made me feel remotely human.

  On the table sat two glass jars.

  One was still tightly sealed, brimming with black coffee grounds.

  The other was already open, half-empty.

  I brewed a cup from the open jar.

  The aroma filled the large, frigid room.

  Sip.

  I had time. My coffee stash was secure. I didn't need to return to the Elven Village just yet. I had no real reason to, and honestly... I wasn't ready to face Elyra's gentle gaze while my heart was still so numb.

  I lit a cigarette.

  "Haa..."

  I looked around.

  This house needed something. Or someone?

  No. I didn't need a noisy conversational partner.

  But the money in my bag... the amount was becoming absurd. Hundreds of gold coins. Just sitting there, collecting metaphorical dust.

  I remembered the world map hanging in my study.

  To the northeast.

  The Free Trade Port.

  A place where money could buy absolutely anything. Illegal goods, ancient artifacts, classified information, or even human lives.

  In this orderly city, my wealth could only buy boring things. But out there... maybe I could find something interesting. Something unpredictable.

  Maybe some unique furniture for this house?

  Or maybe just throwing money around to see exactly how far human morality could be bought?

  "A vacation..." I muttered. "Let's just call it a grocery run."

  I stood up.

  I didn't need to pack. All my worldly possessions were inside my Dimensional Bag.

  I walked to the front door.

  I looked back at the room one last time. Clean. Neat. Empty.

  "I'll be back," I said to the void.

  I locked the front door. The heavy iron lock clicked into place.

  This house would be waiting for me.

  I stepped out into the moonlit street.

  My destination: The Free Trade Port.

  Looking for something to fill a house that was too big, and perhaps... to fill the time that was passing by far too slowly.