"Nice, seems we made it before dark."
Alzareth yawned, his eyes barely open. "Night. Day. As long as there is a pillow nearby I'll manage."
Yes, that's right. After walking six hours straight across the flaming death-crater deluxe from yesterday, we finally arrived in Northrift.
On the kingdom's official guild maps, it was nothing more than a dot north of Caldera—an outpost town, straddling the border of civilization and the northern wilderness. To locals, though, it was "the last hearth before the wilds."
Craig had promised me "a safe midway point" at an inn here to rest before heading further toward Brislewick.
We came at sunset. A massive stone wall circled the town, more for show than for defense. The air was crisp, like Swedish spring—cool enough to make you want a coat but warm enough that you could walk without shivering your ass off. Flower boxes dotted the windowsills, streams ran clear between stone bridges, and the breeze carried pine and cooking smoke in equal measure.
I stopped to take it all in, pointing like an excited tourist. "Yo, look at that. An actual stone well. Cute little market. They even got a smith's workshop for sword repair. Dude, this is straight Skyrim vibes."
Alzareth blinked at me, unimpressed. "…Sk-eye-rim?"
"Don't worry about it."
He yawned. "Smells like wet dog."
"That's culture, asshole."
The smell of stew and freshly baked bread tempted me toward the inn, but then I saw the farmers market spread out along the main square. Stalls bursting with weird isekai-only food: fruits with glowing veins that pulsed faintly with mana, crimson slabs of meat cut from something with way too many fangs, fish that shimmered rainbow even after death, and mushrooms the size of dinner plates. Tools enchanted to sharpen themselves sat beside bundles of herbs that could cure anything from warts to curses. A merchant even waved around a "mana-conducting frying pan," swearing it could double as a weapon.
I was gawking like a tourist at Disneyland when I spotted a scruffy little stray dog sitting by a stall. It wagged its tail, big blue eyes begging for attention.
"Ohhh, look at this guy!" I crouched down and scratched its ears.
Then it sank its teeth into my hand.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, YOU DAMN FUCKING MUTT!" I screamed, flailing as blood welled up. "SOMEONE GET A MEDIC! HEALER! I NEED A HEALER! I'M ABOUT TO DIE OF ISEKAI RABIES!"
People turned. Merchants froze. The bard missed a chord.
Alzareth sighed like he'd just been forced to get off the couch. He lifted one hand lazily, and a blue flame flickered into existence—bright and gentle. He touched it to my wound.
The fire sank into my skin without burning. My hand tingled, the bite closed, and the panic left me in a single exhale.
I blinked. "Wait. What the hell did you do?"
"Azure Flame: Restoration," Alzareth said, yawning again. "Same fire. Different effect. It heals instead of burns. Any illness, curse, plague, even brainwashing—gone."
I gawked at him. "Are you for real? So let me get this straight. You can incinerate an S-class criminal into dust in less than a second and cure me of rabies and a migraine? Your powers just keep getting more OP every damn day."
He shrugged. "It's just fire, man. Burn or heal. Yin, yang. Energy in, energy out."
"Yeah, that made absolutely no sense." I rubbed my healed hand, still staring. "Do you realize how unfair it is that you're basically walking around with the combined powers of a nuke, a hospital, and an exorcist hotline?"
He smirked faintly, tone dripping with stoner calm. "Sounds like you're just jealous your strongest attack is giving your enemies some tight pants and a gift card."
"Excuse me?" I shot back. "At least my power doesn't require me to wake up from a nap first."
He tilted his head, grinning lazily. "I may sound like an asshole, but a lack of sleep makes you look like one."
I pointed at him, seething. "…Fuck you."
Eventually we reached the inn. It leaned slightly to the left like it had survived one earthquake too many, but the lantern light inside was warm, and the smell of venison stew punched me straight in the nose. A fire cracked in the hearth. Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered man with peppered hair and a scar above his right eye. He looked like he could wrestle a bear and still have enough stamina to serve drinks.
He greeted us with a voice deep enough to vibrate my ribs. "You must be Samuel and…companion. Craig's friends, aye? Come in. Sit. Fire's warm, ale's stronger."
Alzareth didn't need a second invitation. He drifted toward the table closest to the fire, collapsed into the chair, and started inhaling stew like it was oxygen. I joined more carefully, my travel-worn ass grateful for actual furniture.
The man introduced himself with a grin. "Name's Luthren. Ex-guildmaster here in Northrift. Retired A-rank adventurer before that. These days, I just keep the ale flowing and the roof patched."
My jaw dropped. "Wait—you were an A-rank?"
He shrugged modestly. "Was. Long ago. These days my knees crack louder than a frost troll's spine."
He poured us mugs of ale himself. Warm. Honest. Not a hint of the paranoid edge I expected. Just a guy who'd lived hard and now wanted to live soft.
But then his brow furrowed, eyes flicking between me and Alzareth.
"…Strange. Craig told me to expect four of you, not two."
I froze mid-sit. "…Oh. Yeah. About that."
His smile dropped. "What happened?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "…They died."
Silence. The fire popped.
"Died?"
"Yeah. Giant Glaciator ambush on the tundra. Attacked us out of nowhere. It nearly made me a chew toy until—" I thumbed toward Alzareth, who was now dunking bread into his stew like this was all normal— "this guy showed up and sliced it in half like a piece of meatloaf."
Luthren stared at me. Then at Alzareth. Then back at me. "…And you lived?"
"Barely," I muttered. "Let's just say my pants were compromised. But yeah. He saved my ass."
Alzareth burped loudly, completely unfazed.
Luthren's eyes lingered on him for a long moment, something unreadable passing across his face before he shook his head. "Gods above… Well. My condolences. I'll pour an extra glass tonight in their honor."
He set down mugs of ale in front of us, his smile returning—though now with a little weight behind it. "Eat. Drink. You've walked a hard road to get here."
For the first half-hour, it was nothing but stories. Luthren told us about the last snowstorm that buried Northrift chest-deep, about a time he got drunk and tried to arm-wrestle a minotaur (he lost), and about his brief stint trying to brew his own beer ("exploded the cellar"). He laughed easily, spoke plainly, and carried himself like a man at peace.
And then, because I am an idiot, I asked the wrong question.
"So hey," I said between sips. "You ever hear of something called a Z-rank?"
The warmth drained from the room.
Luthren froze mid-laugh. His mug stopped halfway to his lips and he started looking at me like I just read out the serial number on the backside of his credit card.
Slowly, carefully, he set it down. The scarred lines on his hands twitched. His eyes flicked toward the shuttered windows, the rafters, the shadows.
"…Where did you hear that term?"
The fire cracked. The wind howled outside. The inn felt smaller all of a sudden.
I swallowed. "Uh. From him." I pointed toward Alzareth, who was busy picking stew out of his teeth like none of this mattered.
Luthren stared at him for a long time. Then back at me. His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and heavy. "Do you understand what you've just said aloud?"
"…Not really?"
He leaned closer. "They are the final rank. Beyond S. A rank so dangerous it isn't written in any guild registry. The world thinks S-class are the apex. They're not. S-class can end a kingdom. A Z-class can end the world. Entirely. And the worst part? Only other Z-class can stop them."
Luthren's voice dropped even lower. "Each one is a calamity walking. And worse—every single one of them is…an asshole. They don't care about kingdoms, wars, or balance. They only care about themselves. Whatever dumb obsession or whim they're chasing at the moment."
"…So basically," I said, scratching my head, "the most powerful beings on the planet are also the least employable."
He shot me a glare but didn't argue. His voice lowered even more. No seriously, his voice was echoing at this point. I swear. "That's why their existence is hidden. If the public knew? Nations would riot to monopolize them. Wars would never end. The world wouldn't last a year."
He leaned in, close enough that I smelled ale and smoke on his breath. "But to mention Z-class so easily. That word does not exist in public record. The guild will deny it. The crowns will denounce it. The people aren't even supposed to know it's real. And yet—" his gaze flicked to Alzareth again, narrowing. "—you said it casually. Which means…"
He trailed off. His jaw tightened.
"…Which means you've seen one."
I nodded, hesitant. "Yeah, actually. Him. The guy that saved me from that giant snow-gator thing. His name's Alzareth."
Silence.
The kind of silence that feels like the world just stopped breathing.
Luthren went still. The color drained from his face. "Alzareth? No… it couldn't be… Is it truly him? The Azure Dragon?"
My eyebrow twitched. "…Elaborate, please?"
Luthren leaned back, exhaling through his nose like he was letting out years of pent-up pressure.
"I heard of his name through a confidant of mine not long ago. Alzareth Mournvale. The Azure Dragon. The sleeping blade of annihilation. Some say he is part-dragon. Some say he was blessed by a primordial wyrm. Some say he is one, wearing human skin. Nobody knows. What they do know is that wherever he walks, worlds burn, ashes are scattered, and whatever he doesn't like…ceases to exist."
I turned slowly toward Alzareth, who was now staring very seriously at the wrapper of a KitKat I'd given him and studying it like it was the Rosetta Stone.
"…That guy?" I asked.
Luthren's stare hardened. "Yes. That guy. Tell me, boy—did he summon flames the color of the sky?"
I nodded weakly. "Five giant dragons. All of them on fire. Pretty sure the ecosystem's fucked now."
Luthren covered his face with one hand. "Gods preserve us. Then it's true. You're traveling with the Azure Dragon himself."
"Okay but like—" I gestured at the man-child now trying to break a KitKat apart lengthwise. "—he's kind of a dumbass?"
Luthren stared at Alzareth, and the weight in his eyes said everything: fear. Respect. And the kind of caution you reserve for a beast behind glass.
Luthren ignored me and slammed the table. "Dumbass or not, he is one of The Seven Divine Calamities. One of the only beings alive who can unmake the world if he chooses."
I raised an eyebrow. "Seven… Divine Calamities?"
He nodded slowly. "That's what the stories of the underworld call them. The Z-rank adventurers. There are said to be seven alive right now—or so the rumors claim. Each one powerful enough to plunge the world into chaos if they felt like it. Balance exists only because the only ones who can stop a Calamity… are the other Calamities."
"Neat," I muttered, though my brain was still hung up on the words unmake the world.
Luthren's expression turned grim as he began to tick them off on his fingers. "I've only heard a few names. The first—Malyagara Alvyara, the Forest God. Said to be the strongest elf in history. My friend claimed to have seen him, once. We started out as rookies together, back before he…" His voice trailed. "He wasn't the same after that."
"Forest god, huh?" I leaned back in my chair. "Let me guess—really good at gardening."
Luthren gave me a look sharp enough to cut stone. "Right… anyway. The second name I know is Robert Redfield. The Blood Tyrant. No one's certain if he's a demon, vampire, or spirit possessing the dead. Just that wherever he treads, blood runs in rivers."
"This literally sounds like an emo kid's fan fiction character," I muttered.
Luthren cleared his throat. "The third is Aeryn Athenos, the Storm Saint. Said to be born under the blessing of the lightning and the wind spirits. Some even whisper she is the reincarnation of the goddess of weather herse—"
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to stop you right there buddy," I said, raising my hand to cut him off.
Luthren blinked, thrown off. "You don't want to hear about the legends of the Seven?"
"Look, man," I said, leaning forward. "I already almost died to a goddamn dog today. Like, rabies. Foam-at-the-mouth, brain-melting rabies. You think some bedtime story about apocalypse-bringers is really gonna improve my mental health?"
Luthren stared, baffled. "You don't care?"
I shrugged. "Z-class, S-class, hell—even a D-class could beat me into paste if I pissed them off. So what's the difference? World-ending elf god, or local thug with a butter knife—it all ends the same for me."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"Well, you better start believing, because I'm not gonna change my answer, sir."
The ex-guildmaster rubbed his temples. "…You've got some serious issues, young man."
"Yeah," I said with a sigh, "tell me about it."
The tension finally cooled off, and Luthren leaned back in his chair, voice easing up. "Hells. Talking about these type of things always tie my guts in knots. Let's… drink instead. Easier on the heart."
"Fine by me," I said, rubbing my temples. That's when the scratchy sound of a lute-heavy ballad droned on from the corner. A magic radio, perched on a shelf, brimming faintly with mana.
Yeah, I knew the damn things by now. Radios weren't rare anymore—they'd already invented radio communication in this world. The guilds and kingdoms used it for announcements, news updates, even military alerts. Whole nationwide broadcasts, medieval CNN style. And music? Apparently there were entire bands touring across the kingdoms, recording their harpy-voiced garbage and blasting it through the airwaves like a traveling minstrel on steroids.
And the craziest part? This wasn't just noble luxury. Sure, the radios weren't cheap, but they were solidly high-end middle-class products. Farmers with a good harvest, merchants on the rise, innkeepers like Luthren—they could afford one. Not some royal-only toy.
The tech itself wasn't even that different from my old world. Radios, boilers, lamps—it was all there in concept. Only difference was, where we used wires, batteries, and coal plants, they just slapped a magic thunder stone inside and let it guzzle mana straight from the air and convert it into energy. Elegant. Simple. Almost insulting.
And yet. Yet. Not one of these geniuses had invented a fucking lighter until I showed them one. Thousands of years of magic stones and innovation, and nobody thought, "Hey, what if fire… but in your pocket?"
I sat there for maybe five more minutes while some bard-sounding crooner sang about lost goats in the snow, before I decided I couldn't take it anymore. My hand twitched. My mana was low, but my brain screamed one solution: upgrade.
I pulled up my Wamazon [Online Package Delivery] interface. A familiar flickering panel appeared, glowing faintly. I scrolled, gritted my teeth at the price of what I wanted, and sighed. "Shit. Out of range. Need cash."
Luthren frowned as I dragged a literal pile of gold coins out of my dimensional storage and set it on the floor like I was paying off a dragon's mortgage. "Why are you…?"
"Shh. Trust the process."
With my funds close enough, I hit [Purchase]. The air cracked. Space warped. And with a fwump, a massive cardboard box materialized right in the middle of the inn's common room.
Luthren's jaw dropped. "What in the Nine Hells—"
Alzareth, deadpan, eyes half-lidded, poked the box with one finger. "…Dude. You just summoned a box inside another box."
I tore open the packaging. "Gentlemen, behold."
A polished chrome-and-wood jukebox gleamed under the firelight, neon trim buzzing faintly. I slammed the first record in, hit play.
The opening riff of Guns N' Roses' Paradise City ripped through the inn.
The effect was instant.
Luthren and Alzareth froze. their brains went blank with sensory overload. The guitar screamed, the drums hit, the voice wailed like the gods themselves had a drinking contest and turned heartbreak into a weapon.
Luthren's hands shook. His lips quivered. Then he howled. "BY ALL THE GODS, WHAT IS THIS DIVINE MADNESS?!"
And then—Alzareth. His eyes snapped open wider than I'd ever seen. He stood up so fast his chair fell over. "WHAT THE HELL!" he yelled, clutching his head like the sound was too good to exist. "DUDE. DUDE! THIS IS DIABOLICAL!"
The chorus hit.
"OH MY GOD," Alzareth screamed, headbanging, eyes watering. "WHAT IS THIS ECSTASY I'M FEELING!?"
Luthren slammed the table with his mug in rhythm, ale sloshing everywhere. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "THIS—THIS IS BEAUTY! THIS IS WAR AND LOVE AND DEATH ALL AT ONCE!"
And right next to him, Alzareth—stoic, narcoleptic Alzareth—was clapping, actually crying, voice breaking as he shouted, "PLAY IT AGAIN, SAM! PLAY IT AGAIN OR I SWEAR I'LL BURN THIS TOWN DOWN!"
Then the chorus hit again.
Without even thinking, Alzareth and Luthren locked eyes, slammed their glasses of wine they poured mid-song on the table in rhythm, and belted out together at the top of their lungs:
"TAKE ME DOWN TO THE PARADISE CITY—
WHERE THE GRASS IS GREEN AND THE GIRLS ARE PRETTY—
TAKE! ME! HOOOOOME!"
The whole inn shook with their voices. Tears streamed down Luthren's face. Alzareth was headbanging like his life depended on it, screaming: "I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!"
By the time the final note faded, Luthren and Alzareth started crying and hugging each other like they just filed divorce papers.
"Encore," Luthren croaked. "Encore, gods damn you."
Alzareth sniffled, then muttered through the tears, "…Yeah, man. That was… holy shit. That was life-changing."
I leaned back in my chair, smirking like I'd just won a cultural world war. "Gentlemen, you have just been blessed by peak civilization."
Alzareth wiped his face with his sleeve, still sniffling. Then his head snapped toward me. "That… instrument. The string one. Bard's lute?"
"Close," I said, still wiping tears from my own eyes. "It's called an electric guitar."
Alzareth stared at me like I'd just revealed the secret of immortality. "…I want one." His voice cracked halfway between a demand and a prayer. "No—I need one. If this… guitar can summon the devil himself to sing, then it belongs in my hands."
Before my brain caught up, I hit purchase again. Another box fwumped onto the floor, this one smaller. I tore it open, pulled out a gleaming Stratocaster, and shoved it into his hands.
He froze. He actually froze. His usual deadpan mask shattered into the most reverent awe I'd ever seen. Alzareth cradled the guitar like it was a newborn dragon egg.
"…You just… bought this for me?" His voice shook.
"You saved my ass twice. Call it even."
Alzareth slowly ran his hand down the strings. The room vibrated with a twang. He staggered back like it hit him in the soul. Then, with all the solemnity of a knight drawing his sword, he lifted the guitar high above his head.
"BEHOLD!" he bellowed. "MY DIVINE AXE!"
Luthren and I both choked on our drinks.
"I shall call you…" Alzareth squinted, eyes blazing, "…Soulrender."
He held the guitar like Excalibur, neon glow from the jukebox casting him in divine light. "With Soulrender, I will carve music so mighty the gods themselves will weep."
Luthren was pounding the table, laughing and crying at the same time. "He's lost his goddamn mind!"
Alzareth ran one finger down the strings, expression unreadable. Then, for the first time since I met him, his lips twitched upward. "This is like… the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."
"Wait—" I froze. "You guys have Christmas here?"
"Yeah, duh," Luthren said, already refilling his mug. "What kind of world doesn't have Christmas?"
I threw my hands up. "Okay, fine. Do you have Santa Claus?"
Both men gave me a blank stare. "Who the fuck is that?"
My jaw dropped. "What do you mean who—then who brings you the presents?!"
Luthren answered without hesitation. "Popé the Destroyer."
"…No seriously. WHO THE FUCK IS THAT GUY?!"
Alzareth just strummed the guitar once, flatly: "He eats the bad kids."
I slammed my head into the table. "What the actual—"