Chapter One: The Treehouse

Carlos awoke from his dreams inside the carriage.

It was the administrative district of Eastern Cyprus in March, the morning mist just dissipated. On the desolate wilds outside Saltwell Town, two crows cried mournfully before darting like arrows into the sky, vanishing into the forever overcast heavens.

A newspaper, still fragrant with fresh ink, was tightly clenched in a pale, delicate hand. Bold strokes outlined a large and striking black headline.

—Breaking! Emergency Demon Invasion!

Carlos turned his head to gaze at the distant decaying woods outside the carriage window, a faint trace of melancholy on his face. A gentle breeze drifted into the carriage.

After taking a breath, he felt the restlessness in his chest ease, but he grew weary again of the eternally gray sky outside. He withdrew his gaze and spoke to the iron wire mesh barrier at the front of the carriage:

"Uncle, the usual place!"

The elderly coachman gave a slight nod, responding respectfully, "Alright, young master."

Carlos was lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, a tall man riding a chestnut warhorse approached at speed. The carriage and the armed horse brushed past each other. Through the window, Carlos saw a shotgun tucked into the leather holster at the man’s waist, and noticed the shrewd eyes beneath the man's brown hair quickly sweep through the carriage, lingering briefly on his own face.

It was only a fleeting encounter.

Then, as dust billowed, a powerful gust of wind swept into the carriage, lifting Carlos’s black hair, the neat fringe curling up to reveal a dim, blood-red mark at the center of his forehead.

"Abyss hunter, huh? They’re quick. The abyssal calamity must have spread here already. Those damned underground demons will soon discover me, won’t they?"

Carlos furrowed his brow, a hint of tension appearing on his frosty face.

As the sun climbed to the treetops, the carriage reached the outskirts of the decaying woods, stopping atop a modest hill.

In a treehouse built on a century-old banyan, someone had been awaiting Carlos for quite some time.

It was a gathering arranged between peers.

Sidis, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, was a frail little boy. His father had been in the salt mining business with the Stevenson family for years.

Sidis, squinting through his glasses at the freckled girl across from him, feigned anger in a teasing tone: "Malt, what’s wrong with you? I told you not to come again."

The little girl shrank back timidly, turning her head to bury her gaze in the dim corner of the treehouse.

Beside her, a tall boy with short red hair glared fiercely at Sidis.

"Miss Rena was invited by Carlos himself. As for you, Sidis, if you squint at people again and call her by her nickname during formal conversation, I’ll wrench off your glasses and stomp them like a cannonball!"

Sidis’s eyes flickered with confusion and anger behind his glasses, but soon his face broke into an awkward smile.

"Don’t say that. Since it’s Carlos’s invitation, I have no objections. By the way, did you run into any bounty hunters on your way here?"

The chubby Koman, gnawing on a chicken drumstick, paused his meal, glanced around nervously, then shuffled his bulk and chimed in.

"Not just bounty hunters—I think I saw Black Hats when I was coming up the hill."

The Black Hats were a group tasked with apprehending criminals for the Sword Pavilion of the Empire of Light. Officially, they were Sword Pavilion disciples, but their black uniform coats earned them the nickname "Black Hats" in private.

"Why would those guys travel so far to this dump?" Koman shrugged, his expression turning mysterious. He interjected, "Heard last night a vagabond from Sylin City drank all night in the tavern, wiping tears as he drank."

Sidis’s glasses glinted as he propped his chin in thought.

"Sylin City is mid-sized. It shouldn’t be overrun by beast hordes. Why would someone wander all the way here?"

The tall Char’s thick brows furrowed, but he remained silent.

Malt stayed squeezed in the darkest corner of the treehouse, quiet and seemingly abandoned from the others’ view.

At that moment, a shadow blocked the treehouse entrance and quickly slipped inside.

Malt’s previously gloomy expression suddenly brightened, like a dazzling star breaking through the night.

Carlos entered with a smile, greeted the others, and sat near the door.

Sidis eagerly relayed the earlier conversation to Carlos.

As the young master of a noble family, Carlos had read many books and understood much they did not, so his opinions were always highly respected.

After listening to their rambling descriptions, Carlos tapped his finger elegantly to his temple, pondering for a moment.

"Ran into a bounty hunter on the road; seems it’s related to a hunt. As for the Black Hats, perhaps they’re here to catch criminals who’ve mingled with the bounty hunters."

The red-haired tall boy smirked coldly.

"What’s there to hunt here? Mutated beasts or those demon mud-dwellers?"

Sidis peered curiously at Carlos. "Did Mayor Mori ever mention anything?"

Carlos responded curtly, not bothering to think. "My father is just a town mayor; what could he know about Sword Pavilion operations?"

Sidis wanted to say, though he was merely a mayor, he was also the only hereditary noble in the Eastern Cyprus district!

Carlos smiled and pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket, smacking away Koman’s greedy hand.

He broke the chocolate in two.

He first handed a piece to Malt in the corner, then tossed the other to Koman, who was eyeing it hungrily, and asked, "How did your father, Lord Augusta, let you out today?"

Koman chewed the sweet chocolate, mumbling, "Heh, the steam engine broke this morning. While he was fixing it, I sneaked out."

Carlos was a bit taken aback. Augusta, Koman’s father, was the town’s sole steam engine guardian and cared for his precious machine as though it were gold—how could it have suddenly broken down without warning?

Besides, when Carlos left the town, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss at the saltworks.

If the steam engine failed...

Saltwell should have halted operations.

Carlos frowned in thought, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart.

Just then,

The treehouse walls creaked with the sound of boards rubbing together.

Everyone froze.

A roaring noise erupted from the top of the treehouse, accompanied by the massive racket of steam turbines.

Whirring!

The gusts whipped up by the giant gears and propellers stirred the air, shaking the branches around the treehouse.

The shrubs swayed, rustling loudly.

The treehouse began to shake.

Char, seated by the door, craned his neck to look outside, then quickly ducked back in.

"It’s an Overseer… airship!"

The thunderous noise swept over their heads. Char shouted inside, but his voice was drowned out by the din. Everyone felt as if they were trapped under a copper bell, its surface hammered violently, dizziness sweeping through their nerves.

"Why is the airship flying so low?"

Koman braved the powerful gusts, peering outside and shouting.

No one could answer; everyone clamped their hands over their ears and curled up.

Carlos, shaken until his head spun, felt something worse: the center of his forehead, usually hidden beneath thick white bangs, flickered with a faint red glow. Sharp pains coursed through his forehead and chest.

"They’re really here?"

Carlos cursed under his breath, fumbling in his sleeve for a pocket watch, gripping it in his palm and slowly turning its gears. A black spherical bead soon appeared at the center of the dial.

This strange scene on his forehead happened to be noticed by the anxious Malt.

Carlos managed a wry smile at her.

Sweat beads rolled down his forehead, quickly obscuring the mark.

Malt hurried forward, reaching out to steady Carlos’s shoulder, but a surge of heat forced her to pull back abruptly, crying out in shock.

"Ah, young master Carlos… what’s wrong?"

Unfortunately, amidst the roar of the steam engines, the other three seemed unable to hear anything.

Malt was nearly in tears with worry.

As the Overseer airship hovered above the treehouse, it sent waves of wind crashing through.

The frail Malt bit her lip, one hand gripping a vine in the treehouse, the other tugging desperately at Char’s shoulder.

Finally, Char felt her pull.

He covered one ear, leaned close, and shouted at Malt.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"It’s Carlos!"

She shouted, gesturing frantically at the spot where Carlos had just collapsed.

But when she looked again, the corner of the treehouse was empty.

Carlos was nowhere to be seen.