When Rod woke up again, the clock had reached its eleventh hour.
Another hour, and it would be dusk, the ti when the sun sets.
The last invasion had occurred at this exact ti.
He checked his state, feeling ntally refreshed and full of Spiritual Energy.
He was just feeling a bit hungry.
Well, even if he died, he would die on a full stomach.
Rod left his room, went downstairs, and the mont he entered the crowded tavern, there were cheers.
"Rod!"
"Rod!"
"Our Rod!"
"Black glutton Rod!"
The residents of the Iron Cross district were very warm and hospitable (truly), holding great fondness for every warrior who protected them.
According to the Academy’s statistics, only one Fire Holder was born out of every three hundred people. For those who did not possess the Power of Fire, each Fire Holder was a legend to be admired.
They rhythmically tapped the tables, each person raising their glasses to him.
As he passed by, they tried to touch his hand or any part of his body as much as possible.
This was a local custom; touching the warriors who protected them was believed to bring good luck, ensuring tily rescue during monster invasions.
And whenever a young woman approached him, the cheers beca even more sensational.
Rod would take the initiative to embrace them—
This was the experience he had gained over ti; to the common girls, a Fire Holder appeared lofty and beyond reach, and they did not feel worthy of his favor. If Rod avoided or kept his distance, it would be taken as disdain and contempt, which could hurt them.
The best approach was to give them a warm hug.
If he wanted to spend the night with them, he could make more intimate gestures, and if they responded, it ant they consented.
Generally, you should not show affection to many, but if it was you, it would be okay with many—When the tavern’s owner said this last part, her peach-blossom-like eyes lingered on him, almost inserting a "" into her sentence.
Of course, Rod wasn’t in the mood for that; he might consider it later. So, he just held her soft little hand and gave her a polite hug.
Just like now.
The owner sighed softly and deftly prepared his usual dish of cread beef stew with potatoes.
A man banged on the table shouting, "Shasha! Why doesn’t my plate of beef have even half of what he has?"
The owner glanced at him disapprovingly, placed a plate full of beef in front of Rod, and walked away with a sway in her hips.
A chorus of whistles and boisterous cheers erupted in the tavern; this was their rare mont of relaxation—During bad weather, the Administration Hall would strictly limit the residents’ outside activities.
Other than going to work at the Simans factory, they mostly had to stay indoors, only occasionally getting a chance like this.
And Rod almost daily took so ti to co to the tavern, sharing jokes unheard of to bring joy to their mundane days.
This was also the ti that the residents looked forward to most, getting to interact closely with their legendary hero.
But just as everyone was eagerly anticipating this, the district official from the Iron Cross district stord in, shouting, "Everyone go ho imdiately! Curfew in a quarter of an hour, violators will be fined fifty silver coins and confined for ten days!"
Fifty silver coins were equivalent to a week’s wages, leaving everyone quite disappointed. They grudgingly finished their drinks and als, hurrying off under the official’s urging.
Soon, the crowded tavern was left with only Rod.
The curfew applied only to ordinary people; Fire Holders were managed by a specialized agency, and Rod, being essentially a formal combatant, had unrestricted access in the Lower City District unless there was a specific prohibition.
The officials politely greeted him, "Mr. Rod, please take your ti. It’s a Fog Day period, so please be careful when carrying out sewer cleaning tasks. We’ll take our leave now, goodbye."
Rod nodded, quickly finished his beef stew that had potatoes out of sight, downed the Mushroom Wine that the owner had handed him, and said,
"Thank you, Miss Shasha, you look really beautiful today, and your cooking is as wonderful as always. I’m glad to have your food, and I hope there’s another chance next ti. I need to rush back and rest now. I have more important tasks tonight, and I hope you won’t let anyone disturb ."
Stepping forward, he gently embraced the owner, who was simultaneously joyful, worried, and unwilling to let go, and quickly went upstairs.
——
Back in the Dream Realm, Rod felt better than ever before. He had everything prepared, quietly waiting for the invasion to arrive.
When the thickest hand on the clock moved past the mont of dusk, the long-awaited invasion finally arrived.
In an instant, the entire Dream Realm changed color; the rolling grey fog in the distance gradually darkened, and a dark red firmant appeared overhead seemingly out of nowhere.
The pervasive red light gradually enveloped the Dream Realm, shimring faintly as if the world outside the Dream Realm was a heart, the blood flooding it, and the shimring red light was the beating of the heart. Rod felt as though an incomprehensible, bizarre presence was peering at him from beyond the Dream Realm.
His heart tightened in that mont, even his breathing beca suspended, his spirit tensing up.
In one hand, he tightly held the Spirit Gun "Raven," loaded with Sealing Spirit Bullets.
He gripped Soul Ashes and a whistle in the other hand, with a grey pouch filled with Thunder Stones and "Guardian of Darkness" hanging from his waist.
The Eye of the Soul was already activated, but it detected no changes; the Dream Realm looked no different from what the naked eye could see, until a pure red Shadow seeped through the edge of the Dream Realm.
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