The moment Azrael entered the building, a huge heatwave washed over him, the smell of humans pungent and salty dew engulfing his nostrils.
The enclosed space, crawling with people, intensified the smell, creating a humid, metallic tang in the air.
The atmosphere grew slightly dense as multiple individuals engaged in conversations on various topics, most revolving around the hunt.
A meter away from him was a receptionist's desk, and within three meters stood a metallic rectangular podium that stretched five meters, completely occupying the left side of the hall.
As a newcomer, he simply went to the receptionist area, where he had to stand in line.
The line was quite long, and it took some time for even a single person to finish talking with the receptionist.
'Sigh, who would have imagined a god like myself would be in a situation like this? Urgh!'
After a long and painful two hours of waiting, Azrael finally stood before the receptionist.
The receptionist was a beautiful blonde-haired woman with flawless white skin.
She was dressed in an all-black outfit consisting of a skirt and blouse.
Her beauty was breathtaking to every man present, except for one in particular.
To him, she was merely a flesh sack filled with red liquid.
'Meh, Evan looks better.'
"Hello, how may I help you, sir?" A simple yet seductive voice came from her mouth.
Azrael turned to glance behind him, his eyes scanning each of the people in line.
The line was mostly filled with men, each holding some sort of gift—a rose, a gift basket, an apple, etc.
'Sigh, I see now.'
He placed his elbows on the counter and rested his jaw on the back of his fingers.
"Hello, pretty lady. I'm quite new to this place. In fact, I came here following the instructions on a flyer about beast hunting, you see," Azrael said, using his sweetest and most charming voice.
If the celestials heard him, they'd probably die of a heart attack—someone so ruthless had such a melodious, enchanting voice.
If looks could kill, he'd have been stabbed a hundred times by the men behind him, who had their eyes on the receptionist.
The worst part was, he wasn't average-looking.
In fact, he was quite the opposite—really a handsome entity—so why wouldn't they be jealous of Azrael?
The receptionist smiled so widely her cheeks probably hurt.
Her face turned red with embarrassment, literally succumbing to his charms.
"Oh, that's nice. You came to the right place. All you have to do is sign a few papers and join a party of five, which is compulsory for one's safety, and you can go hunt—that's all," she said, her face still reddish.
"Oh, that's all? Perfect," Azrael smiled.
Without wasting time, the receptionist brought out a sheet of paper, which was just an agreement stating that if he suffered any fatal injuries or died during the hunt, their guild wouldn't be held responsible.
He took the pen the receptionist handed him and was about to sign when he heard a whizzing sound through the air.
His reflexes instantly kicked in, and he simply moved aside as a massive club smashed inches into the metallic podium.
A brute with a meaty neck appeared above his left shoulder.
"Move, you pipsqueak! Don't you see who's behind you?"
As if he hadn't almost been crushed by a massive object a second ago, Azrael signed the papers and handed them back to the petrified receptionist, who had been thrown back by the force of the attack.
With a completely emotionless, dead expression, he turned to the 8-foot giant who was utterly ripped with muscles.
The being before him was huge, and Azrael had to really look up just to meet his gaze.
The large man grunted and pulled his club, now glued to the podium, before holding it beside him.
'How the hell did this small fry avoid that attack with such ease?' he thought.
But instantly, his face turned sour, his skin crumpling roughly with veins threatening to burst out.
"Come on, show me what you've got, beefy fellow," Azrael said with a smile.
He was quite mad at the insult.
[Ding]
[A stupid mortal dared to insult a once mighty being. This is an insult to your name.]
[Kill the meaty brute and feed on his flesh.]
[Reward: ???]
'Kekeke, finally a quest. I guess this fellow qualifies to battle me.' Azrael thought, ready to rip some flesh.
At the same time, the brute clutched his club tightly, ready to pulverize the shrimp in front of him.
"Settle down, you two. No need to fight here—this is not a battlefield," a soft and calm voice said, barely more than a whisper.
"I'm greatly sorry, my lady. You were waiting for this fool to finish, and he was taking too long," the brute said as he bowed on one knee.
Indeed, upon seeing who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere amidst the commotion caused by the beefy brute, they all bowed their heads in respect.
Before them stood the princess of the city—the offspring of the sand herself, the daughter of the Sand Goddess—Mary.
She walked gracefully towards the counter and requested a registry paper for the hunt.
At the moment, she wasn't dressed in her usual golden gowns and jewelry but instead wore gold and steel-plated armor.
The breastplate fit her curved body perfectly, and the sword at her back, gilded in gold, was large but felt as light as a pebble to her.
She didn't bother wearing a helmet, allowing her golden-brown, untied hair to flow freely with the wind as she descended with each gentle step.
After signing the paper, she paused and turned her gaze toward Azrael.
"Why do you not bow to the daughter of this city's queen?" Mary asked, clearly not receiving the respect she was accustomed to.
Azrael stood silently. He believed he was the one who deserved respect, though that wasn't what occupied his thoughts.
'Hmm, Sandra had a daughter? I thought she was a lesbian. I didn't realize she liked pipe, or I would've given her some, kek.'
The amusing part was that he was over a thousand years old, and now, a mere child who hadn't even passed her twenties dared to speak to him in such a manner.
"You see, little girl, you're barely noticeable in my eyes. I simply can't bow to even a god like your mother, and you expect me to bow to you? Funny," Azrael said, his usual crazed smirk curving across his face.
"How dare you speak to her highness that way!" the brute, who was her bodyguard, bellowed, already at his tipping point.
However, he stopped advancing at Mary's glance.
"Then tell me," she asked, "Who are you?!"
*****