Besides, isn't it just a demon-slaying venture in the mountains?
Whether it was for Theresa's Pact, for the safety of the monastery, for Anno's ideals, or for his own Purification Points—
He would do it!
Charles made his decision and gave Rahman his answer.
Seeing him get straight to the point, the blue dragon's eyes showed even more appreciation. No more beating around the bush, the dragon nodded: "Hmm… Actually, it doesn't require all that much."
"Since you took part in the Rockseeker's Outpost battle, I imagine you've seen our new product—the Ion Beam Emitter—which has had a few... minor setbacks."
"Of course, my brother has already begun studying ways to fix the flaws of the first generation. He dearly wants to erase that stain. So, I'll provide you with some of these emitters free of charge, and I'd like you, in battle, to use that weapon to kill demons."
Charles suddenly understood.
So that's it—joining the blue dragon faction meant his first task was to head deep into the mountains, fighting demons while advertising?
No problem!
The various flaws of the Ion Beam Emitter—perhaps no one else could address them, but the monastery had a ready-made solution!
Thinking this, his lips curled slightly.
Because among the available domains for Pastors at a Level 3 Monastery was the "Storm Domain"!
Clad in heavy armor and mastering lightning and thunder, storm pastors would be the perfect users for these emitters!
...
Mithral District.
This was the administrative center of all Liberl Port, also the preferred location for the local nobility. The Amcastra family, of course, was no exception. In fact, as an ancient noble house, they owned a very grand castle here.
The castle rested on hills at the southwestern edge of the Mithral District, terrain high enough to fear neither quake nor flood; the view from here was superb, letting residents see both the northeastern mithril lobby, the city's administrative heart, and the southern Liberl River at a glance.
To the south of the castle was a garden enclosed by tall iron bars, planted with lofty sycamores and evergreen shrubs; the north was taken by the stables and warehouses, sheltering mighty horses—pure white, coal black, or flame red—awaiting their master's ride.
As for the castle itself, it was built of marble, with five tall towers topped by red domes—grand and beautiful.
At this moment, the family head, Anno's father—the Minister of Transport of Liberl Port, nearly fifty years old but still upright and commanding—Grant Amcastra, was in his study, reviewing the proposals submitted by the various districts.
Many infrastructure facilities had been broken by the recent disaster, demanding urgent repair. As Minister of Transport, he intended to use this chance to re-plan and redeploy the city's lines, forging a holistic transportation proposal for future development.
Of course, he also had to satisfy the travel, transportation, and living needs of the city's most powerful interest groups.
The powerful's immediate needs and the city's long-term interests rarely fully matched. Serving the elite might see him kicked into the upper house to waste away, giving up all real power; but insisting on the greater good could see his ruin—and his family's downfall.
So, as Minister, he had to strike the perfect balance between these, as if dancing atop eggshells—one misstep and all would be lost.
Grant was now hunched over his study desk, sketching endlessly over maps of the city. Proposals, damage reports, expert analyses, and lawmakers' warnings all flashed through his mind, shaping what he marked on the page.
At length, he sat up and leaned against the chair's back. The electric massager above immediately activated, kneading his neck and helping him relax.
Though this world, for metaphysical reasons, could only use direct current, toys for the upper classes had still been invented—costly to operate, but available.
Enjoying the massage, Grant relaxed slightly. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed outside his study, as if someone in metal boots had walked into the castle without removing them.
Instead of irritation, a smile of recognition grew on Grant's face as he turned in the chair, gazing toward the study door. Fatigue vanished from his eyes, replaced by delight.
He knew exactly who it was. Merely seeing her could lift his mood for hours.
"Anno!" he called, "Come in, I need to ask you something."
The heavy steps paused, then resumed, making for the study. Moments later, with the click of the unlocked door, Anno appeared in the doorway—clad in silver-white plate armor, helmet under her arm, her expression puzzled. "Dad, did you need something?"
Grant beamed. Of all his children, Anno was the only truly successful one.
So young, already an eighth-level paladin—with ninth just within reach.
Her talent and strength outshone anyone in the family, to his great satisfaction.
His only regret was that Anno, despite her power, remained somewhat naïve.
As a paladin, her class let her discern truth and falsehood, good and evil, but that was enough only for self-preservation—insufficient to drive the family further.
Thus, every time he saw her, Grant felt both joy and worry, always hoping to help shape her character.
"Come in," he smiled. "Keep your father company for a while."
Anno could only make a helpless face, but realizing it had been long since they'd chatted properly—so busy with their own affairs—she stepped in, dragged a chair over, and sat beside her father.
Grant reached out, gently stroking her golden long hair, his eyes full of fatherly love: "Did you get taller again? Does that armor still fit? Shall I call on those dwarves to make you a new set?"
Anno hurriedly shook her head. "No need, this suit still fits."
After a pause, she added, "If you do have money to spare, why not get me a Flametongue?"
A Flametongue—a magical sword that could burst into endless fire, powerful, cost-effective, and relatively cheap for such a magical weapon.
Usually, this weapon wasn't available on the market; the major conglomerates hoarded them, only selling at sky-high prices during crises.
Just like now. Anno had long wanted a Flametongue, but its price had soared to ten thousand gold—far beyond her means, so she turned to her father.
At this, Grant raised his eyebrows. "What about your pocket money? Not enough?"
Anno turned away. "It's gone, and this weapon's gotten more expensive."
Grant gave her a suspicious once-over, then noticed a small red box at her hip.
He smiled. "Did you buy me a birthday present?"
Anno shook her head. "No, it's for Charles."
With a long sigh, Grant quipped, "Daughters grow up—they never stay home..."
Anno rolled her eyes, then stood. "Dad, if there's nothing else I'm going to leave. Blackstaff Tower insists I lead a novice team this time, I still need to prepare."
The electric massager he had just been using was Anno's present for his birthday last month—on Charles's suggestion.
It was from that incident Grant realized his daughter was in love. He didn't mind, nor did he scheme to marry her off to another noble. Who would dare force a promising black knight to do what she didn't want?
So, Grant gave her freedom. At most, he'd jest about it now and then.
Seeing that Anno had no intention of bantering, he reached out to stop her, giving a helpless smile as he held her fast. "Don't go, Anno. Keep your father company a little longer. I do have some things I need your suggestion on."
"When we're done, I'll buy you the Flametongue you want. How's that?"
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