Zonyan Grayclaw’s Demons

Zonyan Grayclaw was sharpening his dagger.

He was perfectly aware that his weapon—an item dropped from a dungeon needed no polishing, its sharpness being unaffected despite the stat known as durability and that it would be as good as new after a visit to the blacksmith.

Nonetheless, it was a habit he had developed as a warrior, and he continued it to clear his mind and stopped remembering the past.

He liked the atmosphere of the Church of Games: thought there would be killing and fighting day after day, there were not many grievances between people—perhaps because they had vented enough in the dungeons.

And even if there would be the occasional conflict, they could simply throw the gauntlet just outside the gates of the Unnamed Town. Then, after that life-and-death conflict, they would head to the tavern to chat idly about everything in the whole wide world, good brothers once who watched each other backs once again.