The years passed quickly, and Calus grew. Over time, he made both friends and enemies, but strangely, the secret organization seemed to have disappeared from the world. Even when he was strong enough to investigate, nothing surfaced. Yet he never forgot his goal.
As for Fre… he seemed to have vanished, or perhaps he was deliberately hiding his trail from Calus.
At the corner of the Central Continent, a young man sat drowning in beer, watching the chaotic scene of drunken laughter around him. Dancers twirled gracefully while wealthy nobles observed from above, their smiles polite but patronizing.
"Fifty years… sigh. Time creeps slowly," Calus muttered as he surveyed the room. For fighters, the higher their realm, the slower their growth. Even though Calus was fifty years old, he still looked like a man in his twenties.
