"Did we just cross over into some kind of extraordinary realm?"
Ash was pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass window, staring down at the bustling city that stretched endlessly below. A dim white moon hung in the sky, a stark reminder that they had officially lost their chance to participate in the thrilling live-stream adventure of the Blood Moon Judgment.
Skyscrapers filled the horizon, neon lights glimmered like a never-ending festival, and the highways were populated by what Ash could only describe as "autocars"—forgive him, his sci-fi vocabulary was lacking. These vehicles seemed almost unnaturally coordinated, maintaining uniform distances and speeds. Whenever one turned off onto a ramp, another would seamlessly fill the gap, as if an unseen conductor orchestrated their every move.
There were no traffic lights or crosswalks—none of the usual hallmarks of urban planning. The cars simply managed themselves, a silent testament to the city's advanced automation. Above them, countless drones zipped through the night sky, moving with the same eerie precision. Some were even delivering items directly to specific locations—just moments ago, a drone had entered their room, dropped off a fresh set of underwear, and left without a sound.
This unexpected delivery had been a small but profound revelation for the trio. Harvey preferred briefs, Ash was a boxer man, and Igula—well, Igula preferred nothing at all. Yet the system had somehow known to provide briefs after Banquet, the butler, promised to "fulfill your needs promptly." The speed and convenience were astounding.
What had struck them even harder, however, was the room itself. It featured a designated slot designed specifically for drones to deliver packages—a subtle, utilitarian detail that highlighted the city's obsession with optimizing every second of its citizens' lives.
This level of sophistication was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Had this civilization truly achieved such a surplus of productivity that it could afford to save people the effort of fetching their own deliveries?
If Ash had to describe the city in one word, it would be "alive."
The entire metropolis seemed to breathe like a living organism, running with the precision of a finely tuned machine. Everything flowed efficiently, harmoniously, like a grand orchestra where every note hit perfectly, without a hint of dissonance.
By comparison, Ash thought back to the Blood Moon Nation's Kaimon City, a place he had once admired. Now it seemed little more than a chaotic mess of screeching metal—a death metal concert compared to the symphonic grace of this city.
And yet, as breathtaking as the view was, Ash was not in some high-rise building. In fact, he was standing in the negative 51st floor of an underground structure.
From this level, he could see another building 80 stories tall rising before him—its base pointed downward toward the city below. The inverted architecture made it appear as though the sky and earth were kissing, a surreal and mind-bending sight.
This city wasn't just futuristic; it was outright fantastical, an audacious marvel that defied gravity and logic. The ground-level city was only the first layer. Above it, suspended upside-down, was an inverted second city, where the "ground" was the highest point, and all buildings pointed downward.
"I hope their corpse management policies are a little looser here..." Harvey mused, idly flexing his freshly healed left arm while chewing on a crescent-shaped candy. He reclined lazily in a soft chair. "Only civilizations that know how to make proper use of corpses can call themselves advanced."
"No wonder those so-called law enforcement Red Hats let us go so easily," Igula noted, watching the drones dart across the night sky. "If they mounted cannons on these things, they could wipe out an entire squad of ordinary Blood Moon sorcerers without breaking a sweat. The fully autonomous security systems we're still dreaming about back in Kaimon City are already a reality here."
He added grimly, "Unless a Level 3 or higher Void Gate opens and a Saint-tier sorcerer leads a direct raid, this place is untouchable. To them, we're just cockroaches—pests to be exterminated when convenient."
Ash chimed in with a chuckle, "Cockroaches? That's generous. More like ants."
"But in such a well-ordered society," Igula lamented, "all we'd have to do is hide for three days until the countdown ends. We'd easily find a way to integrate and become legal citizens. Instead, we're stuck being that woman's slaves for 101 days."
"The Blood Moon Nation's welfare system is decent, too," Ash pointed out. "All you have to do is get a chip implanted in your neck. Would you go back to Blood Moon if it meant wiping your criminal record but requiring a new chip?"
"Not a chance," Harvey replied. "The research monopolies there would crush small independent corpse businesses like mine. Blood Moon's a saturated market—no room for the little guy. Where's my blue ocean of opportunity, huh?"
Igula simply dismissed the question. "I don't entertain hypotheticals."
Ash popped a cookie from the snack tray into his mouth, musing, "This place might not be as perfect as it looks. If everyone here is so carefree and well-off, why is the Four Pillars Cult thriving more here than it ever did back in Kaimon?"
"That's just because the leadership here is more competent," Igula snorted.
"And being employed by Anan isn't all bad," Ash countered. "Being used isn't scary—what's scary is being useless. Sure, we could slowly integrate into this society on our own, but how long would that take? What's the risk? Wouldn't we just get kicked out for being unsightly 'outsiders' sleeping under bridges?"
"At least Anan knows our value," Ash continued. "If she's willing to pay for us, it means we have something unique to offer, something even we don't fully understand yet. Igula, if I discovered your hidden talent in sorcery and the price was licking my boots for 100 days, would you take the deal?"
"Not answering that," Igula deadpanned. "And I'd puke to death in three minutes, so your scenario is moot."
Yet his silence spoke volumes. The subtext was clear—this 101-day servitude was also an opportunity. With Anan's help, they could uncover their latent potential and truly integrate into this society. Even if she exploited them, the knowledge they'd gain was a form of compensation.
"Still," Harvey interjected, snapping his left arm back into place with an audible crack, "let's not forget who sold us out to the Four Pillars Cult as sacrifices in the first place."
The laziness in his voice was gone. His sharp, predatory gaze—Kaimon City's infamous master of death—was back, full of dark intent.