Chapter Seventy-Eight: A Person Who Benefits the People

The Holy City of Fresheit had orchestrated a sensational heist, successfully stealing the personal equipment of one of the famed heroes—the young High Priestess Evelina of the Lumbreli Temple—known as the “High Priestess’s Secret Treasure.” Following this daring theft, the exceptional international thief known as Red Wolf crossed through time and dimensions twice, arriving once again in Falvi for adventure. His previous journey had ended in the city of Chamera.

When he could no longer resist his longing for this continent and descended upon Chamera once more, he had yet to realize that great changes had already taken place.

“Huh, I can really join an alliance guild, how interesting...” Dressed in his nightwalker attire, Red Wolf had just ‘logged in’—a term among dimension travelers meaning successfully arriving in a new plane—when a magical message appeared in his spell notebook confirming his successful guild membership. Looking up at the lengthy, entirely uninspiring guild name, he smiled with delight. Yet, he failed to notice how conspicuous he had become within the crowd. More and more imperial citizens, marked by their red names, began to notice him, each approaching with ill intent...

“Snap!” A crisp sound rang out as a cage of pale white bones slammed down upon him, trapping Red Wolf inside. Before the master thief could react to this sudden assault from above, countless spells and razor-sharp blades pierced through the gaps in the bone cage, filling the magically confined space to the brim.

“This guy’s got some nerve—his name is practically glowing red, yet he dares to show himself openly in the city!” A melancholic demon war warrior swung his spiked wolf club with fierce vigor, admiringly remarking.

“He’s a guild member; he probably won’t come looking for trouble with us...” A cautious dark elf shadow follower hesitated as he warned those nearby—his words uncertain, but his hands quick and precise—as he hurled a dark storm spell toward the dark elf assassin trapped inside the cage.

“What a load of rubbish guilds; never heard of them before. Such trash guilds can’t cause a lick of trouble. I’ll just rally a bunch of people and tear down their home base!” A female troll sorceress proclaimed with righteous indignation, her head bearing the emblem of “Fang of Longing,” the second largest guild in the Apocalypse Empire.

...

This was perhaps the most illustrious moment in Red Wolf’s life—never before had he drawn such intense attention. But his moment in the spotlight was brief, lasting barely two or three seconds before his body was torn into a dark elf mince, his soul immediately departing this world.

Only after being shattered to pieces did Red Wolf realize what had truly transpired: by successfully joining the Alliance guild, he had automatically severed ties with the Apocalypse Empire’s jurisdiction, resolutely allying himself with the Alliance faction. He had become a proud soldier of the Continental Alliance Resistance, the first to infiltrate so deeply into enemy military strongholds—a tremendous honor no dream could have prepared him for. Or rather, if he had dreamed of it, it would have been a terrifying nightmare.

What crushed Red Wolf’s spirit further was that his nightmare did not end with his death. As a weak, departed soul surveying the surroundings through the eyes of the dead, he found himself within a warrior’s cemetery for the Apocalypse Empire, located at the very center of Chamera city. This meant that even if he wished to resurrect immediately in spirit form, he could only reappear within the heavily guarded enemy fortress—ironically placing his corpse nearer to the city gate, where escape was marginally more feasible.

This awkward design was the result of the crude, foolish aesthetic and architectural sensibilities of the Wasteland’s rabble—who in their stupidity had placed a burial ground on the city’s most valuable commercial real estate. Clever Alliance city administrators had long since filled such prime locations with lucrative shops. How could these foul creatures not realize that decomposing corpses emit foul odors, detrimental to urban hygiene and prone to triggering plagues?

Well... perhaps they simply didn’t care. The undead roamed their cities in droves, yet no plagues seemed to erupt. To them, a “cemetery” was no different from an apartment complex.

With no other choice, Red Wolf risked his life repeatedly resurrecting on the spot of his death, dragging his body toward the city gate in the legendary “corpse-dragging” method. His brave efforts quickly stirred the entire city, drawing crowds who lined the streets to send him off with powerful magic and martial arts. Under such intense pursuit, his prideful “stealth” skills were rendered useless—before he could vanish from sight, a magical mark would be promptly affixed to his head, exposing him utterly.

Countless rebirths numbed this poor fellow to death. Amid the cycle of life and death, Red Wolf, a lifelong wanderer of shadows and master thief, finally grasped a precious truth of existence: in the end, everyone must die.

There was no need for further narration; the rest was clear: perhaps the unluckiest man since the gods forged the world, Red Wolf was chased naked from the city center all the way to the vast grasslands, killed countless times beyond his own reckoning. Had his pursuers not been momentarily careless, allowing him to slip away using stealth, who knew how many more times he would have been slain? Now, trembling with fear, he hid behind a rock along the Proud Mountain Road, terrified of being swarmed and hacked to death by a band of ruthless madmen.

Fortunately, our adventuring journey had yielded a few spoils from defeated foes. Along with Beaming Priest “I Am Your Father,” and the swordsman Fuxiao known for generosity, we managed to cobble together a set of level fifteen or sixteen low-grade equipment to replace the tattered rags Red Wolf wore. Despite my larger stash of superior gear, Fuxiao’s lavish generosity toward friends prevailed, ignoring my offerings. As the recipient of Fuxiao’s prodigal aid, Red Wolf gave the bearded priest nothing but side-eyes, instantly earning a “thankless wolf” reputation.

The road back to Fresheit—well, for Red Wolf, it was the road back to Fresheit once again—was calm and safe. The scattered wild beasts and monsters were mostly around level forty, and even “I Am Your Father,” having mastered advanced offensive skills, could easily protect himself. Soon we entered the Oak Leaf Forest of the Onye Mountains surrounding the Holy City; ahead, the pristine white walls of Fresheit stood in the distance.

I savored this forest passage. Fallen leaves formed a soft, brown carpet on fertile soil, quiet and soothing underfoot, relaxing the entire body. The dense canopy blocked sunlight, casting cool shadows over the path—not eerie, but refreshingly cool. After a long, arduous journey, such tranquil serenity felt like a divine blessing.

Fuxiao led the way. I followed dutifully behind, incessantly flattering him, expressing admiration for our new leader. Behind me, Red Wolf trailed closely, haunted by death’s shadow since fleeing the deadly city of Chamera. The poor fellow would frequently vanish into stealth, fearful that a single glance might spell his doom.

As the forest’s edge neared, Fresheit’s city guards came into view. This uneventful journey was about to end.

“Red Wolf, hurry up, we’re almost—” I turned to warn the dark elf assassin who had only been here once before.

“Swish!” “Puff!” “Thud!” “Clang!” “Ouch!” “Oh no!” “Ahhh...” A dying scream was followed by a cacophony of sounds. I witnessed a tragic scene unfold:

A dwarf berserker named “I Hehe” wielded two spiked flails, swinging dangerous arcs at Red Wolf’s head with brutal force. Beside him, an elven swordswoman named “Fia” stabbed sharply into Red Wolf’s rear with a rapier. Nearby, a fire elemental sorcerer “Maple Forest Blade” unleashed torrents of blazing flames, ravenous as a beast’s fangs, mercilessly devouring the dark elf’s body.

These three newcomers were no higher than level forty-one, with “I Hehe” the highest; Fia had just re-specialized, and Maple Forest Blade was only level thirty-eight, an unspecialized mage. Their target, Red Wolf, was a level forty-eight elite assassin—a near ten-level gap implying superior skills, evasive techniques, and resilience that mere numbers could not offset. Any other level forty-eight traveler would not be so easily ambushed by such low-level novices. In fact, these three attackers risked greater harm from counterattacks.

Yet fortune—or misfortune—favored them: Red Wolf was not a combat specialist but a thief who invested most effort in stealth and pickpocketing. His combat prowess paled in comparison, making him fragile even against novices. Moreover, he wore the low-level starter gear hastily provided by Fuxiao and me, offering negligible defense.

Thus, as I saw, Red Wolf swiftly fell bloodied to the ground, sacrificing his life to elevate the reputations of three greenhorns—dead once more amid ambush and assault.

Why “once more,” you ask?

As the three assailants high-fived in triumph, I suddenly realized I should have at least tried to intervene. Watching my own guildmates beaten to death without protest hardly spoke of brotherly affection.

“We saw this dark elf sneaking behind you all...” the boisterous dwarf “I Hehe” kicked Red Wolf’s corpse with pride and said, “...so we came to your rescue and took him out.”

Huh. This scene felt oddly familiar.

“Justice demands we draw swords; it’s only right to help. No need to thank us...” The mage “Maple Forest Blade” spoke righteously, but the greed flickering in his eyes betrayed his true motives.

I’d seen such hypocritical expressions before—on the face of a certain unscrupulous half-orc rogue.

“No need to mention our lifesaving favor...” The elven swordswoman Fia spat the words “lifesaving favor” as if it were a curse, clearly begrudging their supposed assistance.

This strange tone struck an uncanny chord with me. When I and others first met Red Wolf in the Yangtze Delta warehouse incident, wrongly suspecting him of attempting to assassinate Fuxiao’s imperial invaders, they had spoken similarly. I glanced around—this place was eerily familiar. We had also dealt him a deadly blow here.

Indeed, this secluded oak forest was a perfect place for murder and cover-up.

“Thank you so much, but...” I looked at the triumphant trio, unwilling to shatter their zealous sense of righteousness.

Alas, life’s greatest disappointment is that reality rarely matches our expectations...

“...That guy you just killed, he’s a member of our guild...” I remarked.

“Eh?” As anticipated, this revelation stunned the three self-styled heroes. The fierce dwarf stammered, “Th-this can’t be... He’s a dark elf, isn’t he?”

“Didn’t you see my name is green? And my guild tag matches theirs!” Fortunately, “I Am Your Father,” despite being an unreliable companion, was a nearly level forty priest capable of quick resurrection. The moment Red Wolf revived, he exploded in rage, lamenting and cursing:

“Heavens and earth! The empire hunts me in droves; the alliance ambushes and assassinates me. In this vast world, is there no place for Red Wolf to survive? Life’s unbearable!”

“Look...” Maple Forest Blade, suddenly aware of the vast level gap, shrank back and offered a timid excuse, “The dense leaves made your name hard to read. Besides...” He shot a resentful glance at Red Wolf and added, “...your suspicious sneaky behavior made you look like a bad guy. We thought…”

“Exactly! Exactly!” Fia chimed in, feeling wronged. “Besides, who’d expect a dark elf in the Alliance ranks? He looks like an enemy!”

“You...” The killers’ defense was not entirely baseless, leaving Red Wolf momentarily speechless. After a pause, he drew a deep breath, calming his fury over the unwarranted death, then earnestly lectured:

“Know this—A dark elf with no selfish motives, who takes the liberation of Falvi’s people as his own cause—what kind of spirit is this?” His passion surged, and he swore, startling everyone. Unaware, he continued:

“This is the spirit of internationalism, the spirit of unity. Every person on Falvi must learn it... Ability varies, but with this spirit, one is noble, pure, moral, above lowly pursuits...”

His fervor touched all present. As he spoke, all six of us—except me, including the three killers—united in the final phrase:

“...A person who benefits the people!”

It was the finest speech I’d ever heard. Though I knew Red Wolf’s reasons for joining the Alliance were far from noble, his words carried a strange magic, stirring admiration, as if his dark body radiated a boundless internationalist fervor. Unfortunately, this emotion did not last long...

“Look, a dark elf!” A shout arose from the woods behind.

“How dare he come here to protest! Shows no respect for us Alliance people!” The rough voice brimmed with indignation.

“Brothers ahead, hold fast! We’re here to help you take down this imperial black demon, beat him to death!” The speaker was clearly a racially biased Alliance chauvinist.

A massive chain lightning bolt pierced Red Wolf’s body, followed by a volley of sharp feathered arrows embedding in his back. Before he could react, a heavy iron staff, imbued with poisonous magic, struck his forehead with brutal force. These assailants were high-level adventurers, their assault far beyond the earlier novices’. This onslaught toppled Red Wolf, ending his life outright.

As death claimed him, the dark elf, clinging to life and love for the world, whispered his final words:

“Damn you...”