As the saying went, "No debt, no worries."
Over the next few days, Arya worked tirelessly to produce potions—magic potions, healing potions, attribute-boosting potions, and even glowing potions. In short, she wanted to clear all her external debts as quickly as possible.
It wasn't until the fifth day, when Natasha's injuries had fully healed, that Arya could finally say she had paid off everything. Brewing potions was a fundamental skill for an Alchemist, yet doing it every single day was exhausting. She wanted a proper rest, but with her medicine pouch and dagger to maintain, daily brewing remained a necessity.
Still, Arya found moments to enjoy, like taking breaks to pet Gang Emima. Those small comforts made the busy days bearable.
Despite the busy routine, one thing consistently weighed on Arya and all the Survivors' minds. Initially, they had experienced a seven-day novice protection period, followed by another seven days of Magical Flux. What came next were waves of demons and bloody massacres.
Everyone remained vigilant, aware that the attacks seemed to follow a seven-day cycle. Though unsure of the pattern's accuracy, they actively prepared for anything—food, water, firewood, and other necessities. Arya's glowing potions could provide light for a week, but she had made too few, and most of them were being sold at exorbitant prices by that schemer, Roy. Even if she hadn't been lazy, supplying thousands of people alone would have been impossible. Thus, firewood—or rather, lumber—became essential. Arya even noticed miners selling coal on the exchange.
A week later, the world seemed quieter. Only the occasional roar of demons pierced the night. Sometimes, demons came to scratch at the front doors of shelters.
"Oh man, they're back."
"What species is it this time?"
"A Copper Bell Cat."
"Ahhhh, that thing! The first time I saw it, I nearly fainted."
"I know! Those bell-sized glowing eyes in the dark are terrifying."
"Hahaha! Go deal with it! At least it'll drop an E-grade monster crystal core."
"I think there are two or three lurking outside. Why don't you go?"
"Nah, not risking it. I don't want to provoke them."
"23333"
Perhaps it was because most people in District 666 were criminals—or perhaps because they had adapted quickly—but Arya noticed the chat logs in the regional channel differed completely from those on the world channel. Many in the world channel were still struggling to adapt to life in this magical differentworld, while the people in District 666 treated nightly demon attacks on their Shelter's Magic Shield as casual conversation.
This made sense, though—they were a group of vicious criminals to begin with. Survival depended on adaptability. After more than half a month, those who couldn't adjust were dead; those who adapted were now gathered in numbers Arya could hardly imagine.
Among them was Giant Mickey.
"So, you still haven't found Arya yet?" Mickey asked, sitting behind a leather desk, staring at the man opposite him. His Shelter had been upgraded twice to Level 3 and now spanned about 180 square meters. Thanks to his subordinates, the "Office" had taken shape, furnished with desks, chairs, and other essentials.
"Godfather, we've done everything we can. According to our informant with Roy, Arya rarely leaves her place. Even the water she uses for brewing potions is purchased from Roy. Besides, Jackey's men have been sniping our people constantly—four are already dead," the man, Manuel, reported.
"Enough! I didn't assign you here to hear excuses. Solutions! I want effective solutions!" Mickey's face showed unrestrained fury.
But in the next moment, his expression softened. "Forget Arya for now. There's no Magical Flux this week. Let's take care of that son of a bitch Jackey first. Then we'll discuss Arya."
"I understand, Godfather," Manuel said, visibly relieved. He turned to rally his people to deal with Jackey. Compared to Arya, who remained hidden and refined medicine in secret, Jackey and his restless West Coast gang were far easier to locate. Handling him first made strategic sense.
Manuel would never have chosen to work for a boss like Mickey. Everyone had been forcibly transported to this differentworld, and everything was meant to reset—so why should he still obey orders? Yet, despite resentment, he could not resist Mickey.
The reason was simple: everyone here had been pulled into this world by Mickey's Talent. Originally scattered across different regions, their Shelters had been dragged into District 666. Mickey's Talent forcibly seized these Shelters. They could refuse to work for him, but that meant losing their Shelter—and in this dangerous world, a single night outside could be fatal. So, they had no choice but to comply.
No one knew exactly how Mickey's Talent worked, but one thing was certain: he controlled their life and death. With concentrated resources, Mickey's Shelter upgraded rapidly, offering strong protection. Other Shelters, unprepared and unupgraded, had already been overturned during the last Magical Flux.
Watching Manuel leave, Mickey snorted. That damned Jackey! If he hadn't caused trouble behind the scenes, Mickey might have found Roy through his informant—and Arya.
But Arya's swift and ruthless blocking had made many hesitant to follow his orders. Not even seasoned veterans like him had experienced such frustration. Because of Arya, others feared taking his orders lightly.
And yet, something about this girl irritated him beyond reason. Besides that old man York, when had he, Mickey, ever been insulted like this?
Damn it! Didn't Dragon Country people respect the elderly and cherish the young? Why didn't that apply to him? Or perhaps this little girl held some secret importance in the underworld.
Forget it. No matter what, once he caught Arya, Mickey vowed she would learn exactly what it meant to respect the elderly and cherish the young.
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