Albion walked into the Adventures Guild. Even after all this time, he kept the same armour. It may have got damaged a few times but it always came back good as new. Over 2 years, he was holding a new sword. But it wasn't as impressive as Noir, but it was heavy. Pure Black Jazz and crimson red etching on its flat face, providing a sharper blade. Etched in with his own blood. Everyone looked at him as the war between the demon world got even worse. The border of Primal was a constant war zone, even worse than before Albion had heard. The worsening war didn't help when it came to his party. People who were new always suspicious of the party full of monsters and a demon.
But the judgement of discrimination didn't seem to phase Albion as he walked through the Adventures Guild as an A-rank, ignoring everyone's comments. Walking to the front desk.
Abion: Good morning Madeline.
Madeline: You're already done?!
