25 Desem, 318 HC (Horizon Calendar)
The arrival of winter is always heralded by snow falling from the sky. The paths are blanketed in snow—cold to the touch—obscuring the trails that usually see the passage of many travelers.
Low-hanging grey clouds fill the sky as white snowflakes drift down ceaselessly, like a spirit shedding feathers from above.
The entire forest lies hushed beneath a thick white mantle. Tree branches, coated in frost, glint in the dim sunlight, shimmering with bluish hues like countless scattered gems.
Footsteps crunch softly against the snow.
Crunch
The sound breaks the silence of the forest path. A man stands in the middle of the trail, exhaling a breath that turns into a faint mist.
"Haa..."
He comes to a halt; the dark grey longcoat draped over his shoulders—worn like a cape—swings gently before settling still.
The air has been biting since the previous night; it is a frigid morning in the forests of the Kingdom of Stornia.
Snow continues to fall from the sky, settling upon his dark brown hair.
A gentle winter breeze blows, causing his wavy, shoulder-length black hair to dance softly around his face. A dark blue wool scarf is loosely wrapped around his neck, partially covering his coat collar, while its long ends—dangling down to his waist—flutter in the wind.
He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again as the cold breeze begins to subside. "It's certainly cold today..." he muttered, brushing the falling snow from his hair. "It hasn't even been a full day yet, and it's already this freezing."
He looked up, gazing at the gray sky with eyes as red as gemstones. His expression was impassive yet calm, as if he were simply observing the ceaseless snowfall.
The man then spoke to himself: (I'd better head back to the city of Awania Sudo soon; it looks like the sky is about to unleash some truly biting cold.)
As he stepped forward, the long coat draped loosely over his shoulders swayed gently. It wouldn't fall off, even in a strong wind, held securely in place by a silver brooch engraved with his family crest. As long as the brooch remained fastened, the coat would never slip from his shoulders.
Beneath the coat, he wore a neat blue vest paired with a white shirt that was slightly untucked at the waist. He also wore gray trousers that harmonized well with the snow beneath his feet.
He walked away from his previous spot, but just a few meters along the path, he was startled by the sudden appearance of several identical figures—thick-furred, humanoid monsters wielding various weapons.
"Whoa?!"
He stepped back, eyes widening as the monsters appeared, growling and blocking his path.
"Grrrhhh!"
Seeing this, the man's initial shock gave way to a different expression; he realized the creatures before him were merely common, low-level monsters. Even so, he seemed annoyed.
"Oh, come on. I know I'm in a danger zone, but does it always have to be them?" he said, before launching into a grumble. "Haaah... I hate these Moraks. Why did God create creatures like them in Orleans? Besides, I'm not in the mood to clear out a danger zone."
He let out another long sigh.
"Haaah..."
He openly slid his left hand into his trouser pocket. The gesture, signaling that he was about to pull something out, provoked the monsters—the Moraks—into charging at him all at once, fearless and aggressive.
"Grrrhhh... Garrrh!"
They lunged without hesitation, unleashing a downward strike. However, a kick shot out, slamming hard into the head of the leading Morak. The man had delivered the blow to buy himself a moment to retrieve the item from his pocket.
"Urrrgh!"
The powerful kick struck the creature's head mercilessly. Its body spun through the air before crashing into the snow-covered ground. The other Moraks halted in their tracks, witnessing their comrade at the front fall without putting up a fight.
They growled, a silent snarl that seemed to scream, "What?!"
"Grrh!?"
The man lowered his leg back down and spoke. "It looks like you lot just lost your leader. In that case..." He pulled a ring from his pocket.
He slipped a silver-plated ring—set with a red crystal symbolizing a burning flame—onto the middle finger of his right hand; the ring glowed faintly, resonating with the magical energy within his body.
Energy surged from his wrist to his palm, gathering a dim red light accompanied by a searing aura of heat. Finally, that light unleashed a fireball toward one of the remaining Morak.
The flames consumed the creature's entire body, reducing it to ash—much like burning paper—that stood in stark contrast to the white snow.
"Grrrhhh!?"
The man muttered to himself.
(Haa... I've seen this time and time again. It seems to have become a common occurrence. Perhaps that's why I'm bored now; besides, I need to get back to the city quickly.)
With that thought, he charged straight at the Morak, who appeared terrified at having chosen the wrong opponent. They had likely mistaken him for a lone, weak adventurer—a mere Nephilim—but now, the true nature of their enemy was laid bare before them.
Paying the Morak no further heed, he kept running; as he closed the distance, he pushed off the ground and launched himself into the air, leaping over the creatures below.
"...!"
He landed perfectly and immediately resumed running without hesitation. His coat and scarf fluttered in the wind generated by his speed; despite the biting cold, he pressed on. (Damn...! The wind is freezing! But it can't be helped; at least I managed to escape those annoying Moraks.)
He picked up his pace to stay ahead of the Moraks he had just left behind.
*
A modest-sized town sat on a stretch of land right in the middle of a river, connected to the mainland by a short bridge.
The town was partially blanketed in snow, as the winter chill seemed set to intensify throughout the morning.
Few people had ventured out of their homes yet, and hardly any shops were open. Perhaps only the Adventurers' Guild remained active in the otherwise quiet town.
Even so, there were still people about.
Awania Sudo—the man who had just arrived in town—took note of this as he walked along the snow-covered street.
"It seems I was right. Everyone else senses it too," he whispered. He continued walking, observing the buildings with their roofs buried under thick layers of snow.
(The Adventurers' Guild is probably still bustling, as always.)
Amidst the quiet atmosphere stood a large building bearing the emblem of a sword and shield above its entrance—the Adventurers' Guild.
Inside, the atmosphere was just as quiet. A large quest board was covered in slips detailing missions of various ranks; the usual chatter of adventurers had dwindled to just a handful of voices, while the air was filled with the scents of old paper, metal, and warm coffee.
Well, even though it was cold outside, at least it was warm in here. That was why some people preferred staying indoors rather than venturing out.
The man walked toward the reception desk, glancing around with a look of curiosity. Upon reaching the counter, he addressed the two people stationed behind it.
"It seems pretty quiet. You two aren't taking any time off?"
Standing directly behind the counter was a young woman with long, glossy black hair and neatly trimmed bangs. Her hair cascaded straight down to her waist, framing a pair of calm blue eyes. She wore a white, lace-trimmed blouse with a draped collar, a black bow tie featuring a central blue gem, and a short black skirt—an outfit that perfectly embodied her role as an adventurer's guild receptionist. She was busy organizing what appeared to be important paperwork. A name tag pinned to her left chest read "Mia Adore."
To her left stood a black-haired man dressed in the male equivalent of the receptionist uniform. His attire matched the woman's, save for the long black trousers and shoes. He stood quietly, watching the man—whom he clearly recognized—approach them, before answering the question himself. His name tag read "Ethan Adore."
"Well, we'd certainly like to. But duty calls, after all. Isn't that right, Mia?"
The beautiful woman, who had been tidying up the documents, turned toward the man at the counter and answered honestly.
"Yes, actually... We're currently preparing some important documents."
"Important documents?" He glanced toward the papers she was holding. "That thing you're holding?"
"Yes. This important document contains information from every region classified as a high-danger zone. It's supposed to be sent to headquarters in Queen City—along with details regarding certain artifacts found in the dungeons located within those danger zones."
At the mention of artifacts, a connection instantly clicked in his mind. His eyebrows shot up; after all, acquiring them was his ultimate goal right now.
"...?!" He then asked about the artifacts. "Artifacts? What kind of artifacts?"
"We don't know exactly, but what is clear is that they are the sort of artifacts sold in shops," Ethan replied, before realizing something. "You're planning to go there to retrieve those artifacts, aren't you, Mr. Collector?"
"Heh..." He let out a sharp breath, then answered with absolute confidence—a conviction that resonated from the depths of his heart, soul, and very being. "There is such joy in possessing things in this world—artifacts included. I own more artifacts than you could possibly imagine."
Then, closing his eyes, he gently touched the back of his right ear—demonstrating how he could hear the voices of the artifacts. He spoke in a soft tone.
"I hear the voices of artifacts—exquisite ones—far more clearly than anyone else can."
He opened his eyes again; with a firm resolve in his heart, he put the question to the two of them. (This is my first wish: to possess every Rare, Legendary, and Saga-class artifact in my world.)
"So, could you tell me where those artifacts are located?" he asked with a faint smile, his eyes holding a look of expectation.
He was a collector, utterly convinced of his desire and his hope to obtain the artifacts he sought. It was an essential trait for a collector. Having traveled from afar and endured a long journey, he would not stop until he had achieved it all.
This is his responsibility as a collector. He will never waste even the smallest detail related to an artifact. Collectors are still just regular Nephilim, but they have a specific goal they must achieve. Maybe some of them have goals that sound trivial, but when they are set as their main goal, then they have a responsibility to achieve that goal.
Because he was The Collector. He was The First Wish.