Prologue

“DON’T LET ANYONE look down on you.”

That was what my grandpa, a Seeker, always used to say.

A Seeker is exactly what it sounds like—a person whose profession is searching for missing things. A Seeker’s target may be treasure hidden in ancient ruins, the ruins themselves, perhaps even a fugitive or an unknown creature. But the plunder that brings the greatest profit and most renown has to do with the coveted Abyss.

When a link is established between this world and the Void, ordinary land and buildings grow tainted by the Abyss. Seekers strive to locate these abyssal places and hunt beasts that manifest in these accursed spots. At least, that’s what they’re most commonly known to do.

If an Abyss is ignored, it will continue to indefinitely corrode the world, so the government encourages and supports the work of Seekers. Beasts, who thrive within Abysses, must be hunted and subdued to purify the land. Further, materials harvested from beasts are essential to produce the many inventions that form the basis of modern civilization.

Modern magic-engineered civilization.

Magic-engineered civilization is more prosperous than any that had ever existed. Today, massive airships dot the skies. Seekers, thanks to their wealth, their physical prowess, and their essential role in harvesting the raw materials necessary to keep society running, are superstars, universally hailed and beloved.

“Noel, men can’t let anyone look down on them.”

My grandpa was once a famous Seeker in the imperial capital of the Velnant Empire, Etrai. He was the toughest of the tough, a true hero.

“Noel, you better become a man whom no one looks down on,” he said, stroking my head with a hand rough as stone from the years he was active.

My grandpa had been a Warrior, a class well-suited to his massive stature. Classes are assigned by an appraiser, based on an individual’s potential, skills, and limitations. The average person began with a C-Ranked class and could climb the ranks through hard work and talent.

The most common combat-type class was Swordsman, a C-Rank class. The B-Ranks were called Gladiators, while those who achieved A-Rank earned the title of Swordmaster. In very rare cases, people might reach the special EX-Rank.

My grandpa began as a C-Rank Warrior, advanced to B-Rank Vanguard, then achieved the A-Rank level of Berserker. Finally, he was granted the EX-Rank title of Destroyer.

Though promotions don’t change a person’s class itself, skill compensation improves greatly, and there are new skills to be gained. Take, for example, strength: C-Rank Warriors have ordinary strength, B-Rankers have preternatural strength, and A-Rankers are truly superhuman. EX-Rank fighters have power akin to the gods.

Grandpa was really strong when he was young, rough, and brazen. My grandma, whom he fell desperately in love with and wooed, was beautiful and very kind. But she was weak. Grandpa adored Grandma so much that he quit being a Seeker for her. They moved from the polluted imperial capital to live in the countryside. He used his savings to buy some land, hired some hands, and founded a vineyard. It sounded like an ideal retirement. They were living the slow life.

My grandpa, once the most feared Seeker—nicknamed “Overdeath” by other Seekers—had become a devoted husband and l contented retiree. He and my grandma loved each other dearly and supported each other in everything.

However, my grandma died giving birth to my mother. Her frail constitution made childbirth especially risky. Grandpa was griefstricken, but instead of abandoning himself to despair, he decided to raise his daughter—my mother—on his own.

My mother grew into a wonderful person. She inherited her father’s black hair and hazel eyes, rather than her mother’s golden hair and green eyes, but she was otherwise the perfect image of my beautiful and beloved grandma. My mother showed potential in a production class, and when she grew up, she started working at a vineyard. She married a childhood friend. They had me, and the household grew to four.

But I have no memories of my parents. My first memory is of my elderly but still-muscular grandpa crying. I remember the warmth of him holding me while he sobbed.

“Noel, you poor child… You got me, kid. You’ll never be alone. I… I’ll never die, no matter what! I swear it, upon the name of Overdeath!”

My parents died in a carriage accident while I was still too young to understand. The gossipmongers said that the accident was caused by a curse laid on Grandpa by all the beasts he’d killed. They said that every member of Grandpa’s family died young due to that curse. My grandpa didn’t let them get away with that, of course. Whenever he overheard someone talking like that, he beat them to within an inch of their life with a steel bar he carried with him. And he always told me one thing.

“A man can’t let anyone look down on him. He must defend his family’s honor.”

I remember him saying that after I was bullied and called a cursed child by the neighborhood hoodlums. Grandpa went to their houses and tore them down to their very foundations.

Grandpa often spoke about his time as a Seeker. He and his comrades were my heroes. It was only natural that his stories made me grow up to admire Seekers.

“Noel, you look exactly like your mother,” he told me once. “But in you, I see talent as a Seeker that she didn’t have.”

He was right. When I turned ten, I was assessed for a class. I was told that while I had potential as a Warrior, I was most suited for the class I least wanted.

I was assessed as a Talker—a class specializing in party support.

The Talker’s role is to enhance the power of a party’s warriors. In other words, it was a supporting role—a buffer.

I’d really wanted to be a Warrior. Not only did I want to follow in Grandpa’s footsteps, but also because Warriors develop strong offensive and defensive skills. Buff specialists such as Talkers, by contrast, focus only on support skills. Talkers are the weakest fighters and extremely vulnerable in the field. We have to depend on the rest of our parties to survive.

Even with a tank present to absorb the brunt of the attacks, lacking the ability to protect yourself can be fatal for a Seeker. Even Healers have some offensive skills. Talkers, on the other hand, are nearly powerless.

It’s common for Seekers to mock Talkers for their weakness. It hurts to hear, but the truth often does.

When I received my assessment, Grandpa laughed gently and stroked my head. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“Oh, Noel, don’t cry. It doesn’t matter how you were assessed. I’ll teach you to be the best Seeker the world has ever seen, Talker or not!”

I loved and respected my grandpa. I believed what he said. I knew I could trust him, and so I began training under him. The training was relentless and demanding. My ever-gentle grandpa disappeared during it, leaving only a fiercely strict instructor who was the Seeker leader feared by his brothers in arms, who called him Overdeath.

“On your feet, Noel! Beasts don’t rest! No matter how much it hurts, you need to get right back on your feet. Don’t just lie there, dummy!”

More than once, I wound up kicked into the middle of next week while I lay hurt and writhing on the ground. I trained harshly from morning to night. In the early days, I was often covered in puke from my exertions, and I bled from my rectum.

But no matter how hard it was, I trusted Grandpa. He was right, after all. I knew that this intense training regime came from a place of love. The beasts would sniff out my weaknesses, if I had any. I dared not neglect my training, or my career as a Talker would be nasty, brutal, and short. Grandpa was doing all he could to teach me to fight, and I did all I could do to learn. I could survive, even as a Talker, if I could just master Grandpa’s cruel lessons.

Four years into my training, I was stronger than I’d ever been. Even though I was going to be a Talker, I was developing skills to match any Seeker. Perhaps I’d even achieve EX Rank one day.

However, Seekers must be fifteen years old—legal adults—to be officially certified by the government. So I continued honing my skills under my grandpa for one more year.

It was near my birthday when it happened…

“You stay inside, Noel! You hear me?!”

My grandpa, usually so calm and collected, wore a ghastly expression as he led me and his hired hands down into an underground shelter.

That night, the town we lived in suddenly became an Abyss.

An Abyss forms when the concentration of mana in the local atmosphere reaches critical mass. In remote villages such as ours, the townspeople occasionally perform rituals to disperse the mana, but for some reason, the most recent ceremony had failed and the mana had continued to build up. Worse, when Grandpa measured this Abyss with a special instrument, its abyssal depth—which determined how dangerous it was—proved to be 12. On a scale of 1 to 13.

A deeper connection with the Void leads to a greater abyssal depth, and to the Abyss manifesting more powerful beasts. Overnight, our small town was swarming with the strongest of abyssal beasts. Though only a Seeker-in-training, even I could feel the power of the great beast within the core of the Abyss. It was mighty enough to compel even Seekers to bow to it and call it Lord.

My beloved town had been consumed by a black-flamed inferno. In the sky was a venomous red full moon. The strange new dimensions through which the Void sunk its tendrils into our world echoed with wild shrieks of bestial delight and the agonizing cries of human prey.

“Don’t worry,” my grandpa said to me. “I’ll protect you with my life.”

He wore a confident smile as he donned his armor. Shrugging off my attempts to stop him, he left the shelter, closing the door after him.

The Abyss had already spread as far as we could see. There was no way for Grandpa to cut his way through the horrors with me and the vineyard workers trailing after him. He also couldn’t hide with us, since there was no telling when reinforcements might arrive. Our best chance for survival lay in Grandpa taking on the Lord-level beast at the center of the Abyss.

Before long, we heard the death cries of beasts. There must have been hundreds of them. It was proof that my grandpa was still good with a battle-axe, but I was not reassured. How many beasts had this Abyss manifested? I was terrified of the power of the Lord that unified them.

Eventually, the death cries of the beasts faded. Instead, we heard the sounds of an otherworldly battle. The fight between Grandpa and the beast lord had begun.

The sounds continued for hours until, all at once, they stopped. The horrifying Abyss started to fade away.

Certain that Grandpa had won the battle, I ran out of the underground shelter. Outside, the dawn was breaking over scorched plains scattered with the corpses of both men and beasts.

I ran through the wasteland, frantically searching for my grandpa.

Then I found him.

He was covered in blood, and he had lost his right arm and both of his legs.

Grandpa grinned at me as I held him in my arms.

“I guess age is the one unconquerable foe…To think that Overdeath would end up like this…”

I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face. I cried so much I thought my body would wither and dry. Seeing this, Grandpa stroked my head gently, as he always did.

“You’re such a crybaby, Noel. Just like your grandfather,” he said, turning his face from me. “I’m but a shadow of the Seeker I once

was… Choosing a life of combat means that the god of death is always by your side. Do you still want to be a Seeker, Noel? Will you travel the same path as this old man?”

I sniffed and wiped the tears from my cheeks. I forced myself to smile like Grandpa and nodded confidently.

The truth was that I had never been so scared in my life. All I wanted to do was hold my grandpa close and scream for him not to die and leave me all alone.

But more than that, I didn’t want to show him my weakness.

I wanted to tell him that his grandson was strong and reassure him.

I would never be able to repay him for everything he did for me.

“I see…” he said. “Then you must become the greatest Seeker of them all. Do not bring shame to the Stollen name. That is my last wish.”

My grandpa looked at me and reached out to stroke my head again with his one remaining arm. “Noel, make your grandpa this promise.”

“I promise, Grandpa… I’ll become the strongest Seeker ever.”

“That’s…my boy… Noel…I’m sorry…I couldn’t keep…my promise. I’ll…always love…you…”

And with that, my hero died in my arms.

It had been two years since a great man passed. I’d lived my life in accordance with his dying wish.

I, Noel Stollen, Talker, was a Seeker living in the imperial capital.

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