<h4>Chapter 162: Zonyan Grayw’s Demons</h4>


    Zonyan Grayw was sharpening his dagger.


    He was perfectly aware that his weapon—an item dropped from a dungeon needed no polishing, its sharpness being unaffected despite the stat known as durability and that it would be as good as new after a visit to the cksmith.


    Nheless, it was a habit he had developed as a warrior, and he continued it to clear his mind and stopped remembering the past.


    He liked the atmosphere of the Church of Games: thought there would be killing and fighting day after day, there were not many grievances between people—perhaps because they had vented enough in the dungeons.


    And even if there would be the asional conflict, they could simply throw the gauntlet just outside the gates of the Unnamed Town. Then, after that life-and-death conflict, they would head to the tavern to chat idly about everything in the whole wide world, good brothers once who watched each other backs once again.


    There was no need to worry about the day’s hunt, no need to stiffen oneself toy their hands on the old, the women and the children, much less aim their des at their own friends or family.


    Even if the divine oracle issues quests to ughter an enemy tribe, everyone would work together and aplish it with all smiles.


    Everything was perfect... save for those who start screaming ‘Aaaaaaargh! It’s the ck Hand!’ whenever they saw him and flee out of reach.


    ‘Myst name is Grayw, damn it!’


    Zonyanined inwardly.


    It was a nickname made forughs, and while there were yers who had therefore be unhappy to party with him, Zonyan’s skill was undoubtedly first-rate and the reason many top yers would invite him when they frontline a new dungeon. As such, he wasn’t actually bullied but made many friends instead.


    So why was he unable to forget his past pains even though he was clearly very happy?


    He gasped then, realizing that he was done sharpening the dagger and that it had slipped through his fingers, disappearing after leaving a faint trail of blood while a red [-1] appeared in its ce.


    Unlike most yers, Zonyan did not turn off his pain sensation aside from just lowering it slightly. As a former warrior, he knew how pain was a way the body warned against harm, and getting used to it would allow the individual to understand their present condition.


    He sighed and sheathed the dagger into its scabbard.


    Being one of the first of the refugee yers to arrive at the Unnamed Town, he was naturally one of the leaders to the neers. Though he was unlucky in terms of item drops, his game coins never decreased following each dungeon session. That was why he wasn’t staying in inns unlike many yers who joined when he did, but bought a house.


    Not only were the System-built houses tidy and neatly arranged, the interiors were also built the same and basically identical aside from the doorte.


    Naturally, yers could collect wallpapers, furniture andpletely random decorations from aplishing quests to create the ideal house in their minds. Zonyan, however, wasn’t interested in such things, which was why his house still had its basic temte, which includes a in dressing mirror that stood in his bedroom and was perhaps a part of welfare for female yers.


    Zonyan picked up the hairbrush from his dressing table and straightened his thick hair, exposing the two ears over his head that was apparently different from normal human ears.


    Those were a pair of beastly ears: yellow-brown, wooly, and triangr.


    ***


    Zonyan was a Leo.


    His former tribe Grayw was once crowned with such an honored and revered title by other nonhumans.


    Born with powerful physique, frightening speed and stunning strength, they were natural warriors who stood above the many nonhuman races as the King of Beasts.


    Zonyan Grayw was the eldest son of thest tribal leader of the Leos. His strength was unmatched amongst the new generation of his tribe too, but something unexpected transpired when he should have inherited his father’s ce as leader and assumed rule over the tribe.


    Swordtail Grayw, tribe leader Grayw’s second son and Zonyan’s young brother who he once defeated had challenged Zonyan once again.


    And yet, Swordtail was not pitting brawn in a direct match. He had instead defeated Zonyan with sorcery he learned from somewhere unknown, even killing their father to directly im his ce as Grayw’s leader.


    Afterwards, Swordtail would kill every person in the tribe who fought his rule. Their own mother protected Zonyan with her life, but was still killed by Swordtail who was now apletely differently person—Zonyan, caught in the sheer force of the spell was sent flying into the sea.


    In this world, the seas were much more dangerous thannd, and thereforending underwater had less chance of survival than falling off a cliff itself.


    Even so, Zonyan didn’t die in those waters. Instead, he hung on to a piece of wood that floated towards him muddleheadedly, staying adrift on the ocean for three days. Old Vanke eventually found him and fished him out of the sea, and he escaped with his life then.


    With that, he made a name for himself as a mercenary at Lovinia.


    He didn’t abandon old Vanke when the registrar fell to hard times either,pletely dropping his mercenary life as he escorted the old man down to Cromwell. Later, with Vanke’s rmendation to Marni, he became one of the first refugee yers.


    “I guess I really couldn’t let that go.”


    Zonyan’s fingers gently brushed over the mirror, staring his own face that was growing in resemnce with his father’s while a fire burned in his heart.


    The more blissful life was now, the hotter the fire burned.


    He didn’t know when he had clenched his fingers into a fist, but he shattered the mirror with a single punch, leaving a shattered reflection.


    His identity as a yer had genuinely broken his past shackles—since the nonhumans’bat ability was essentially based on their physical bodies and talents—and allowed him to be a warrior greater than his father, but that was not enough.


    The horrific sorcery that Swordtail had used then was still coiling around Zonyan like a demonic nightmare, forcing him to dream of those very scenes of that fateful day.


    Even after changing ss to be a Berserker Swordmaster, he still wouldn’t win against Swordtail now.


    “Dear god, what should I do...” He whispered with a face full of anguish.


    He wasn’t pleading answers from his own god, but merely sleep-talking out of either habit or instinct.


    Nheless, this nonhuman from the Western Continent knew not that his god was watching (peeking) over him from his divine kingdom.


    Hence, a crisp sound rang in his mind in the very next moment.


    Ding!


    [Side Quest started: Triumph of the King of Beasts]