{Chapter: 108: Being A Grinder}
At the heart of the Silent Heart Academy, deep within the center of the Sea of Death Flowers—a region shrouded in mist and forever bathed in an eerie violet glow—a conversation was escalating.
Hosorn, now a high-ranking emissary of the war committee, furrowed his brows as he stared at the crimson-eyed demon seated leisurely on the stone steps. The scent of sulfur and blood drifted faintly from him, not just from his clothes, but as if it was fused into his very being.
"Let me go to the battlefield?" Dex repeated, as if testing the sound of it.
"That won't do!"
Hosorn raised an eyebrow. "The reward is three thousand monster souls per day. That's a rare contract. Even elites beg for a fraction of that."
"Three thousand?" Dex scoffed. "That's a generous offer... but that won't work either. You can't insult my Mog!"
He slammed his tail against the ground with exaggerated offense. The bizarre declaration made Hosorn blink.
"Insult your what now?" he asked, puzzled.
Dex stretched like a lazy cat, then stood up, brushing some invisible dust off his rugged leather coat. "My Mog. You wouldn't understand."
Hosorn crossed his arms. "Try me."
Dex gave him a sly grin. "My Mog is my essence, my dignity, my pride. If I were to break my back under orders just for monster souls, then what separates me from those corpse-collecting ghouls?"
Hosorn sighed. "Dex, I can smell the battles on you. You have the aura of a killer. You were born for blood and chaos. Why refuse this chance?"
Dex dramatically waved him off. "You misunderstand. My race—wild demons—are naturally cautious. I, specifically, am an endangered subspecies: the solitary, delicate, misunderstood demon heiress."
Hosorn nearly choked on his own breath. "Delicate?"
Dex nodded solemnly. "Indeed. A fragile little flower in the abyss. I must not be subjected to the horrors of war. No, no. Occupations like gatekeeping and security are more suitable. Something low-stress. Minimal danger. Perhaps guarding a potato farm."
Hosorn stared blankly. He couldn't tell whether Dex was mocking him or dead serious. His face betrayed no emotion beyond a theatrical sort of dignity. He had heard of devil trickery, but Dex took it to an entirely new level.
A few minutes later, Hosorn left, still baffled. As his footsteps faded, Dex scratched his ear and gave a light whistle.
He leaned back against a pillar and muttered to himself, "Honestly, three thousand monster souls is decent, but not for the first wave. I may love battle, but I'm not stupid. The opening salvos are always a meat grinder. I'll eat well now and clean up after the carnage."
He pulled out a small crystal from his coat and checked the time. "Still got some hours. Might as well take a stroll."
---
Meanwhile, on the distant orbiting war structure known as the [Alsop Star: Mobile Destroyer], Charles was feeling a bit peckish.
The looming war didn't dull his appetite.
He exited the towering witchcraft spire and descended the spiraling steps, his cloak fluttering behind him in the artificial wind. The war-torn skies above the floating citadel pulsed with red lightning as ley lines trembled from arcane buildup.
But Charles was focused on one thing: food.
And that's when he saw it.
A strange sight unfolded before him—a red-haired man, riding a modern-looking two-wheeled contraption, zipping around the edge of the tower platform. The vehicle was crudely built from dark steel and reinforced with threads of glowing alchemical runes. It rumbled across the stone paths as if daring the battlefield to notice it.
The rider, humming a merry tune with absolute disregard for decorum, occasionally popped a wheelie as sparks trailed behind.
Charles froze. "What in the Arcane Halls...?"
The entire platform was preparing for interdimensional war, every wizard tense with duty—and this man was joyriding?
'Isn't everyone preparing for war?' he thought. 'What the hell is he doing?'
But instead of confronting the man, Charles decided to stay in his lane. He watched a bit longer, shook his head, and left.
Dex, of course, noticed him watching. But he didn't care.
He steered the dirt bike around a corner, grinning to himself. While others were tightening their boots and casting protection rituals, he had already found his loophole.
Having signed a minor soul contract with Hosorn gave him semi-official access. His racial talent in soul-binding magic allowed him to piggyback on the signature without raising alarms. Technically, he wasn't doing anything wrong.
He parked his bike near a ledge and looked out over the void.
"Why waste time signing up for dangerous frontline work," he mused aloud, "when I can just slip in after the fact and hoover up the souls like crumbs after a feast?"
Dex lifted a black coin-shaped talisman from his pocket. It flickered with swirling patterns of magic. With enough mana, he could project avatars—soulless doppelgängers—into the battlefield without putting himself in harm's way.
They'd collect fallen souls, gather rare monster corpses, and return before breakfast. It was dirty work, but someone had to do it.
He looked down at his dirt bike and patted it fondly. "Might even tune you up with some plasma wheels next. Ride you into the enemy's soul field and come out richer than a guildmaster."
Then he leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closed as the war drums began to rumble across the floating citadel.
But Dex? He was already on his break.
---
It seemed… the time had come.
Charles stood alone within the towering spire of the Witchcraft Tower, his fingers clasped tightly around the cold iron railing as his gaze rose toward the arcane interface above. Floating in the air, a series of glowing crimson numbers ticked down to zero—and then stopped.
A hollow silence followed.
The countdown had ended.
And yet… nothing had happened.
Furrowing his brow, Charles tilted his head, uncertain. Where was the enemy? He hadn't seen any signs of an approaching force. No vibrations echoed through the tower walls, no movement flickered on the horizon, and the arcane surveillance systems embedded throughout the tower's exterior hadn't raised a single alarm. Not a single spell had been triggered to detect an intrusion, nor had any defensive wards activated.
He frowned, pacing across the smooth obsidian floor as the faint sound of the tower's ambient magic hummed beneath his feet like a living heartbeat. "Strange… the countdown should've marked the beginning of combat. So where are they?"
*****
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