Mike stumbled through the desolate and dark winding streets of Blackthorn. With only the moonlight to guide him along the muddy and uneven paths, he tried to navigate the land carefully from his memories yet found himself tripping as he ran.

He exhaled continuously from his mouth, producing clouds of mist like a runaway train. His footsteps were heavy, and his heartbeat rapid. He had just committed murder, and it weighed heavily on his mind. Being a scumbag and slave trader was one thing, but butchering his partners in crime, his sworn brothers, was something he had never thought himself capable of accomplishing.

Blood dripped down his face from the thrashing he received from Cameron, reaching up and pushing a hand through his greasy hair. He felt blood-caked strands sticking to his fingers.

His hand was also painful, possibly fractured. The adrenaline had kept him going, but as the cold January wind cooled his mind, he began to panic. He didn't have a plan and was already regretting his actions.

Gritting his teeth, he kept running through the streets, looking for outlines of buildings he recognised to help guide him to his final destination—the basement of 3rd street.

An outline of a large man emerged from an alley to his right; the walkway overhead blocked the faint moonlight, so Mike couldnt make out the man's features. Nevertheless, a faint outline of a potential weapon was in the man's hand.

Blackthorn was a notoriously brutal place filled with refugees from various parts of the north. As a result, violence was a common occurrence. Mike usually travelled with bodyguards around town to conduct his business, but he was all alone and weakened.

Mike wearily tried to walk around the man as he was standing in the way of the entrance to 3rd street, yet the man followed him. He was matching his movements.

Suddenly the man moved and swung what appeared to be a broken liquor bottle at Mike's head. Mike tried to dodge, but his body was weary, and standing was a feat of its own.

Yet just before the man's attack connected, a shadow-like claw emerged from the walkway above and grabbed the man's hand, twisting it, causing the man to scream in pain.

Mike freaked out and ran past the screaming man. He could make out the faint outline of a tavern in the distance that his group owned and sprinted for it without looking back. The scream echoed through the quiet streets, yet nobody emerged from their houses to take a look.

Mike's muscles cried out to him, but he powered on, reaching the end of the street and turning into a side alley. With all his remaining effort, he shoved a stack of wooden panels that lay against the side and revealed a wooden trap door.

It had a simple iron lock, so Mike fumbled around in his trouser pocket to find the key. He felt a cold chill pass behind him; he span around but saw nothing, only the empty and quiet, wait quiet, the screams had ceased, had the enemy followed him? Mike shuddered and quickly found the key.

It was rather hard to put the key into the lock due to the lack of light, but he eventually slotted it in, and with a quick clockwise turn, the door popped open.

"Your services are no longer required." A cold feminine voice sounded next to his right ear; Mike almost jumped out of his skin in fright and tried to turn around but found his neck locked in place by a small hand.

"W-who are you..." Mike said between gasps of air.

"Death." The voice answered, and his world turned black.

***

Zero watched as Mike's body slumped down next to the trap door with a cold gaze. Then, kicking the corpse to the side with surprising strength, Zero conjured a summoning circle from shadows.

"ᛋᚺᚨᛞᛟᚹ ᚺᛟᚢᚾᛞᛋ (Shadow Hounds)" she chanted, and two average-sized dogs that seemed to flicker in and out of existence emerged. "Go," she commanded, and the dogs vanished down into the basement. A few seconds later, they returned with no apparent damage.

'No magical traps or guardians then.' Zero thought to herself as she peered into the eerie basement below. Hesitantly she dissolved into the shadows and used her favourite darkness affinity skill, Shadow Walk.

The basement was relatively small, only a single room occupied by a large locked chest. Zero inspected the chest with magical sight and whistled.

"Magically treated metal in a wasteland like this, no wonder the lack of security. No mundane could crack that thing open..." Zero mused to herself.

"But if it's a mage, well..." Zero summoned her Shadow Claw and crushed the chest's lid as if it were constructed from cardboard. The metal creaked in protest as it was compressed and eventually gave in to the overwhelming magical attack.

"Rather low-quality magisteel then." Zero commented and peered through the hole at the chest's contents. It was filled to the brim with low-quality jewels and mana stones.

Zero sighed in disappointment; she loved a good treasure hunt and expected something more exciting. Suddenly, a cold wind blew by and made her shudder, her thin cotton pyjamas providing little protection against the winter chills.

With a shrug, Zero pulled on her mental connection with her master and soon felt a telepathy channel open between them; she voiced her findings as she lacked the ability to move such a large chest by herself.

***

Damien observed through his perception field as Mike's soul light flickered before dispersing into the surroundings. It seems that when someone dies, the mana stored within their soul is returned to the atmosphere to be reused by others.

He then caught up on the situation with Zero and woke Thar up with telepathy and commanded him to retrieve the chest. With his skills and strength, he could fix the chest; inspect the value of the jewels and mana stones while also carrying the chest back to the Mayor's residence.

His own personal knights were not even a full day into training, so apart from his disciples, Fay and Zero, he had nobody else to order around. Walter did come to mind, but he was a water mage and would struggle to lug around a large chest of jewels, so Thar was the only choice.

While Damien was distracted, he knew he had made a fatal mistake when he heard a light tapping on the window. He could see a tiny little soul just outside the window in his Perception Field.

"I found Papa!" Through telepathy, a cute voice sounded in his head, 'Another Psychic mage?' Damien thought as he woke up and got out of bed.

Feeling no malice in the childish voice, he replied, "Papa? Who is your Papa?"

"Papa is Papa?" The voice sounded confused as the tapping on the window continued.

Damien opened up his Spatial Inventory, retrieved his defensive cards just in case, and cautiously approached the window. He debated using clairvoyance, but it would render him stationary as he observed the potential enemy, leaving him vulnerable.

On the windowsill was a fat spider by Earth standards, around the size of a human palm. It had gorgeous fluffy pink fur and eight-round and curious emerald eyes that showed intelligence staring at him. Even more weird was its two cute fangs that protruded out of its face with no evidence of a mouth.

Damien lowered his guard as the spider called him 'Papa' through telepathy while jumping up and down in joy like a puppy. Damien responded with a question to the little spider as a terrible thought occurred to him, "Little spider, if you are here... where are your brothers and sisters?"

The adorable pink spider pointed towards the town below with a leg and said, 'They are hungry for blood Papa.'