She gave him a sideways glance, one brow slightly raised. "You should know this already," she said flatly. "Humans are the weakest race in the Lost Continent. Weak in strength, weak in talent, weak in resources. And the humans from your continent… they're considered even worse than the ones born here."
She paused, letting that sink in before adding with a tone that was neither cruel nor kind—just indifferent. "Most of them perform below average. Many are injured. So die."
Max's expression darkened as he walked in silence beside Princess Lenavira.
Her words hadn't been ant to insult him—not directly, at least—but that didn't stop them from digging under his skin. Because the worst part? She wasn't wrong.
Humans were racially weaker than both elves and demons.
And Max knew it.
Unlike the elves, humans weren't born with bodies blessed by nature. Elves were naturally attuned to the elental forces of the world—wind, water, fire, earth, light, and even the rarer elental branches like lightning, shadow, or life. Their bodies absorbed mana effortlessly. Their connection to aura and conceptual power was practically instinctual.
They didn't learn to wield mana—they inherited it.
Demons, on the other hand, were born with divine-tier physical bodies. Their bones were like steel, their skin like natural armor, and their muscles rippled with power even before training. Their bloodlines carried ancient strength, and most of them could shatter stone or crush enemies underfoot without even needing a weapon.
Compared to that, the average human was… ordinary.
Humans had no inherent affinities. No racial blessings. No divine bloodlines. Even their only so-called "advantage"—their flexibility with mana—was barely enough to keep them in the conversation. Yes, humans could train in all elents, unlike elves or demons who were typically bound to one or two. But that sa flexibility often ant they never truly mastered anything.
In a place like the Lost Continent, where the survival of your race ca down to raw strength and innate gifts, humans were always struggling to catch up.
Max knew this.
He wasn't naïve.
But even if the odds were stacked against his kind—even if the entire world laughed at humanity's weakness—he refused to accept it as fate.
He was going to rewrite that narrative.
One way or another.
"Though I have indeed heard that so of the geniuses this ti are quite extraordinary," Princess Lenavira continued, her voice calm but laced with a trace of intrigue.
"Oh?" Max leaned forward, curious. "Who?"
The princess didn't hesitate. "There's a girl who's extrely proficient in space manipulation. Then, a prince from your continent—he fights using tens of thousands of weapons. Another girl is skilled with ice, deadly cold. I also heard of a boy who uses mist in battle, and so lunatic going around challenging everyone he sees with a sword."
She paused for a mont, as if recounting the last na carried a different weight. "And of course… that girl with the black flas. She's terrifyingly strong. But even she doesn't compare to the one I'm truly curious about."
Max raised a brow. "Who?"
"The red-haired girl," Lenavira said, eyes narrowing slightly. "She wields phoenix flas. If I'm not mistaken, that alone puts her strength above everyone else in this entire batch of humans from the foreign continent."
A soft smile crept onto Max's face. He recognized every na she ntioned. But hearing about the phoenix flas? That made sothing stir in his chest.
'Alice… wait for ,' he thought, the silly grin on his face impossible to hide.
Lenavira noticed. Her expression twisted into sothing cold and slightly disgusted. "Why are you smiling like an idiot?"
Max scratched the back of his head, smiling wryly. "Forgive , your royal highness."
As he said that, he focused on her aura. Peak of Seeker Rank.
Not surprising.
She was the princess of the Elven race. Of course she'd be strong.
After several more minutes of walking and idle conversation, they finally reached the outskirts of the towering structure that had lood on the horizon for so ti. Now, standing near its base, Max could see what lay before it—a sprawling city that buzzed with life.
It was vast. Vibrant. Alive.
Hundreds of thousands of people moved through the streets, forming a living river of footsteps and conversation. What caught Max's eye most wasn't just the sheer number of individuals, but the sheer variety.
People of all kinds. All shapes. All races.
There were no vehicles. No flying ships. No magical mounts in sight. Just feet on stone. Everyone walked, from the common traveler to robed experts glowing with power.
As Max drew closer to the city's grand entrance, he began to notice even more diversity. Not everyone here was an elf, human, or demon. In fact, many clearly weren't.
He spotted a tall figure with a long, pointed tail swaying behind them. Another had a feline face, covered in sleek fur, golden eyes scanning the crowd. Horns. Scales. Wings. Claws. Every few steps, he saw sothing new.
His eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know there were other races living on the Lost Continent besides humans, demons and elves," he muttered, mostly to himself, his voice tinged with curiosity and wonder.
Princess Lenavira didn't miss a beat. Her tone was icy, dismissive. "Of course there are. This continent is ho to many races. It's just that humans, elves, and demons dominate—because of their strength and their numbers."
She walked ahead without looking back, her words lingering in the air.
Max stared at the crowd a mont longer, still processing the scope of it all. The Lost Continent was far more alive than he ever imagined.
Before long, they stepped past the city gates and entered its bustling heart. The streets were alive with movent—rchants calling out their wares, travelers weaving through crowds, guards in ornate armor standing at intersections. Towering above it all, as if piercing the very heavens, stood the Tower of Truth.
It was even more imposing up close. Ancient and imnse, the tower seed to hum with invisible pressure. A structure that didn't just belong to this world—it transcended it.
Just as they ca to a stop before the base of the tower, Princess Lenavira spoke, her gaze still fixed on the monuntal structure. "You should head to the human departnt's branch and register yourself," she said, voice cool and matter-of-fact. "They'll give you a stone. Without it, you won't be allowed to enter the Tower of Truth."
Max frowned. "You an… I need their approval?"
"Yes," she replied simply. "Every person, no matter the race, must register with their respective departnt. Without it, the tower won't acknowledge you."
Max's expression darkened slightly.
He had a feeling this might beco a problem.
By now, word of his existence should have reached the humans—especially if Lucas had reported everything. If that was the case, showing his face in their branch might cause more trouble than it was worth.
Sensing his hesitation, Princess Lenavira glanced sideways at him. "What are you worrying about?" she asked, her tone sharp, cold as ever. "No fighting or killing is allowed in this area."
She paused briefly, her eyes flicking back toward the tower. "But inside the Tower? That's a different story. Fighting and killing are not only allowed—they're expected."
Max's eyes widened slightly as her words sank in. So that's how it was. Outside, law and order. Inside, chaos and bloodshed.
Still… he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. If, for any reason, the human branch refused to give him that stone, he'd be stuck. Trapped on the outside. That kind of situation could spiral fast.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, familiar voice calling out from behind him.
"Ah! Max? Is that you?"
Max turned around, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition.
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