It was a world teeming with dangers of every kind.
In deep forests rarely trodden by humans and rugged mountain ranges, demonic beasts swarmed in droves, while humanoid monsters flocked to villages and cities where men had settled the land.
Even though the connection to the gods had faded since the great war of antiquity, cultists serving evil gods had not disappeared, and demons trapped in the material realm, unable to return to their homeland, lurked in every shadow.
Naturally, the depredations of bandits never ceased along the major roads connecting village to village and city to city. Powerless merchants and travelers had to wager their lives just to cover a week's journey.
Such was the world, brimming with all manner of perils, and thus the mercenary trade—selling martial might for coin—thrived.
Those with no other means to survive, those unable to restrain their boiling blood, threw themselves into the mercenary industry like moths diving into a blazing inferno.
Among them, a rare few born with exceptional talent or blessed with astonishing luck acquired vast wealth and renown. Yet the vast majority of ordinary folk merely died lonely deaths on the road, having gained nothing and left nothing behind.
Allen, a rookie mercenary from the back alleys, believed he was closer to the latter. It was a painful truth he could not ignore.
Even considering his mid-teens, his excessively light and slender frame was utterly ill-suited for close-quarters combat where spears, swords, and axes clashed wildly. He struggled desperately to survive, but reality was far from kind.
Of course, all of this was a story from before he ever held a bow.
The moment the first arrow he had ever loosed in his life pierced the vital point of its target, Allen realized that his fate had changed.
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